Power!Power!Power!

46
MUSIC
TONE AUDIO NO.53
N
FIDLAR
FIDLAR
Mom + Pop, LP or CD
ever mind that the two main parties in the U.S. government
won’t compromise for the common good, that unchecked
global warming increasingly devastates food supplies and
environmental balances, that debt-induced recession looms
over the international marketplace, and that tensions in the
Middle East continue to spiral beyond control. None of the
issues matter. Hell, none even exists in FIDLAR’s universe,
a half-baked world in which surfing, sex, sleeping, smoking,
drinking, and drugs comprise the totality of existence.
Such subjects have long
informed raucous rock and
roll, and often, serve as
conduits for frustration and
rebellion. Yet these four Los
Angeles burnouts convey the
chaos on their buzzed-about
self-titled debut as if it’s a life
choice.
Save for the betrayal of a
girlfriend, FIDLAR’s youthful
members revolt against
nothing else than running out
of dope or realizing they’re
broke. Several obvious punkrelated
reference points—early
Replacements, Descendents,
Black Flag, early Green
Day—largely figure into their
pawn-shop guitar distortion
and out-of-tune cacophony.
The slightly humorous juvenilia
and apathetic attitude would
soon be forgettable, but then,
the band’s combustible hooks
and sawed-off melodies take
over.
FIDLAR sounds aggressive
and, on fare such as the
defiant “Cheap Beer” and insubordinate
“White on White,”
borderline angry. However,
these skateboarders aren’t
mad about much; they have
no reason to be. No wonder
nearly every song comes
off as the theme for a house
party at which everything
and everyone gets trashed,
and nobody pays any mind.
Who needs responsibility
or a job? FIDLAR’s only
concerns relate to amusement,
self-satisfaction,
and scoring the next high.
Usually, the three aims are
interwoven.
DARE graduates
FIDLAR are not. Cocaine,
weed, smack, PCP, 8-ball:
FIDLAR is littered with
more drug references than
Motley Crue’s career. Just
don’t expect any hair-metal
glamour. Aimlessness,
homelessness, and
dirtiness infiltrate swirling,
hyperactive declarations
(“Wake Bake Skate”) and
fuzz-encrusted screeds
(“Blackout Stout”) that beg
to be shouted in a sloshed
mental state, Styrofoam
cup of beer in hand.
Is all a joke meant in
good fun? Perhaps. The
pharmaceutical-laden
narratives are certainly
a long way from the TVwatching,
masturbation,
and boredom chronicled in
“Longview.” Then again, every
generation needs its own
slacker heroes. And so it is
with the entitlement crowd.
Drunken high-school
revelers, class-ditching
stoners, dead-end amateur
dealers, and grown-ups
refusing to confront reality
(temporarily or permanently):
FIDLAR welcomes you to your
future. Now hand ‘em your
joint. —Bob Gendron
MUSIC
March 2013 47