Thursday, March 8, 2012
Germbox - Creamy Loop 7"
It's weird that Caulfield released this particular record, as the lion's share of the label's discography is serious-guy emo, the likes of Giants Chair, Christie Front Drive, Sideshow, Mineral, Ethel Meserve...you know...stuff that's not very "fun".
Then there's the Kansas City noise rock crime spree of Germbox. They lumber into bed long after you've fallen asleep, their clumsy hands reaching into the darkness to tug at your nightgown. You can smell the rotting alcohol on their breath, and feign sleep, hoping they will tire out and relent. But they won't take no for an answer, their touch becomes more demanding, and in a gruff bellow they announce their intentions to deflower your most unholy of holes. Germbox are not gentleman callers, they are deranged perverts with a bent for wanton destruction, and they don't seem to care for your opinions on the matter. You find it incredibly disturbing that the Germbox you first locked eyes with across the ballroom floor of the Floretta Baylin Cotillions has morphed into this hulking, hungry beast of a band who's hot, acrid desires are currently lifting the back end of your robe past the point of no return. It's not worth the fight, is it?