This album stinks so much of stale beer that you’ll wonder if you hit your head on the footpath on a late-night bender and woke up in a homeless shelter It reeks of hops - and i don’t mean that nancy boy craft shit either. This is your stock standard, public bar piss. So fuck off if you want a cocktail.Lyrically, titles like “Meet My Middle Finger” (the single), “Dickheads Anonymous” and “Wife School” (that’d be the B side) give the game away. As the band cautions: “Listeners in search of intellectual stimulation may be disappointed.”
VeeBees revel in a world of bogan backyard barbecues as muich as laugh at it. They don’t take anything - especially themselves - seriously but, jeez, they go alright when they fire up the plate and get a few coldies in them. In other words, they can play.
How many bands have a “lead bass player”? Glenno imparts a bottom end that’s bigger than your sister’s and that anchors the band like free piss keeps your Uncle Trev chained to the kitchen fridge at a party. There’s a lot to like about the (also “lead”) guitar work of the singularly-named Davo, especially on a cut like “I Got Nuthin’”. Norro howls (on “lead” vocals) like a fully-hammered Chris Bailey without his Irish lilt. Neilo stays upright on his stool and plays precious few solos (none, actually) for a “lead” drummer.
I know what you’re thinking. How can they sustain one joke over four albums (five if you count “Live at Summernats”)? Look, I don’t know, but they just do. Do you ask why the hair of the dog makes you feel better after a huge night that ended in you punishing the porcelain and calling out for someone called Ralph? Of course you don’t, so drink up. It's good for you.
