Enough of the smartarse observations or I'll end up with a Sardinian horse's head in my bed. Being punks from Italy, Thee Oops don't fuck around. This is lo-fi, straight-forward punk rock. One CD or two seven-inchers. Take your choice. Thirteen minutes and every song (10 of 'em) clocking in at under two minutes. Music for short concentration spans. Blink and you'll miss it etc., etc. Now, where were we?
Oh yes. The upshot is it's pretty good. Two guitars, bass, drums and a vocalist, all rejoicing in initials rather than names. The guitar tones are thin (and so is the recording at times) but my guess is that if you're into what's on offer you won't give a shit. Thee Oops are all about thrashing out a good time.
If there's anything happening lyrically speaking it's well lost in the maelstrom. Vocalist A.P. wails away like there's no next week. The two words that make up the name of the title track are about all I can make out. The muddy cover of The Beastie Boys' "Egg Raid On Mojo" has a few more but I wasn't a fan so I can't make them out either. As if Thee Oops could care.
"I'm Not To Blame" is the hit pick for mine. Manic drumming and stop-start machine gun guitars with a chorus that tugs your leather jacket and doesn't let go. The title tune sticks like glue, too.
The bio carries words like "brutal" and "holocaust" and who's to argue? Most hardcore punk was (is) about conveying moods and emotions and if you wanted to flesh that out you needed to resort to a lyric sheet. Thee Oops hit those nails on the head. This is a band that's angry and isn't going to take it any more. Whatever "it" is.
3/4