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***Pardon the gratuitous pop-culture reference, but Converted Thieves is the record the Royal Tenenbaums might've made if they were 20-something Texans living dangerously close to the poverty line. Like a chorus of punch lines without a joke, the voices on this record are inevitably preoccupied with getting loaded and just getting by, and strive to create something meaningful, tender and true. Beneath a deliberately dated, stylized veneer lurk some of the wittiest "rock" lyrics since the demise of The Smiths. Puns crack at every beat. Low jokes mesh with high motives to craft a tone that is more serious for its refusal to take itself seriously, like 1965 Bob Dylan fermented and distilled. Reviews of Black Lipstick's debut EP place the band on par with its vaunted influences, a short list of rock's great trash-poets (VU, TV, Modern Lovers, The Fall). On Converted Thieves, Black Lipstick progresses from these starting points to find a voice all its own. Chock full of stoned-Stones wailers, southern rock chooglers, sardonic ballads, post-punk dirges, soaring Marquee Moon guitar solos and even the occasional (and occasionally convincing) drunk Nicky Hopkins impersonation on rock piano, Converted Thieves' depth sets it apart from garage rock contemporaries without sacrificing an unpretentious, all-too-Texan party spirit. It is made to matter by people who care, deeply, passionately and truly. A voice from the present urging one to live in the now. So roll the tops down and turn the AC on. This is one for the Jeeps, friends. A makeshift junk-jam boogie for greased hips and painted lips, with the foursome melding rock, neo-country, and piano into their own charming brand of floozy fun and bar-band noir. -Seattle Weekly Like that magic New York moment when wry lyrics and dirty guitar united in Warholian unison more than 30 years agoOe. cleanly combining melodic guitar, groovy bass lines, kinky keys and Jonathan Richman-style vocals into a thick, rich makeup of post-post-art-wave. -CMJ |
