When you hear a punk rock record these days, you want it to pack an explosive punch. You want it to knock you for six, and leave you feeling exhilarated. Anyone playing punk rock needs to do this in todayâs climate, otherwise there is a danger of getting swallowed up amongst the crowd. When you listen to âNosebleed Weekendâ by The Coathangers, you get the feeling they write every record as if it is their dĂ©but, with a strict determination to leave their mark. Not bad for a band who apparently â like most â just started playing for fun 10 years ago.
While not a conventional punk record by any means, these three ladies welded together a variety of styles on âNosebleed Weekendâ; making it sound urgent, current, yet warmly familiar. It is equal parts garage-rock, post-punk, and power-pop with sense of âgolden-oldiesâ charm about it. Imagine Nancy Sinatra wearing a leather jacket, smoking endless cigarettes and drinking whiskey, while fronting The Murder City Devils. Probably not the most eloquent way to describe a band, yet it is somewhat apt.
The album was recorded at the studio once occupied by Jimmy Valentine, who essentially abandoned all the equipment there in 1979, which The Coathangers used to their advantage. âPerfumeâ and âDumb Babyâ sound old, and have a raw, edgy production that takes some of the saccharine from the vibrant pop hooks of âPerfumeâ and âDumb Babyâ. They turn up the rock ânâ roll swagger on âMake It Rightâ, and the darkened rockabilly of the albumâs title track is sparse, with a live feel to the recording.
The trio do add some bizarre moments into the mix, particularly âSqueeki Tikiâ which, quite frankly, sounds annoying at first but before the end of the song you are left smiling. âWatch Your Backâ shuffles along like an outtake from The 5.6.7.8âs back catalogue, and âBurn Meâ is somewhat disjointed, never really managing to deliver what it is trying to achieve.
These are small, minor imperfections in what is largely a very solid and cohesive album. The surf-rock leaning âI Donât Think Soâ is utterly infectious, and the dry vocal delivery of âHad Enoughâ is complimented by a perfect juxtaposition of warm harmonies and dirty fuzz. The sultry âCopycatâ is a step into a different territory for The Coathangers. While most of the album paints images of chain-swinging biker gangs, the treacle-thick layers of the song close âNosebleed Weekendâ in a decadent fashion.
The Atlanta based trio may have relocated to glitzy Hollywood to record âNosebleed Weekendâ, but they certainly didnât lose their true southern grit. It hits hard and is instantly engaging. The Coathangers may not have hit the big time over the last 10 years, and lesser bands would probably have hung it up by now. Thankfully, The Coathangers are still here, and still kicking us in the face with another excellent album.
GLEN BUSHELL