The Moldy Peaches

With the Cassettes and Beckett & Friends. Sunday, February 3, at the Beachland Ballroom.

The Signoffs, with Disengage and Silver Tongued Devil Beachland, 15711 Waterloo Road Saturday, February 2


"Anti-folk," really, is either a) folk mired in self-loathing or b) folk made by wee turd-droppers too damn clever for their own good. As for the Moldy Peaches . . . turd-droppers. Definitely turd-droppers. From the Big Apple, no less: a cutesy duo writing crude, profane garage-folk tunes about smoking crack, dating neurotic indie boys, and downloading porn. The dude busts out his three-months-o'-lessons guitar-god shtick; the chick giggles through all the butt-stupid lines ("Who mistook the steak for chicken?/Whom I gonna stick my dick in?") and wears a bunny suit onstage, for no discernible reason.

Is this genius? No. Is this New York hipster types trying to make us look stupid by convincing us this is genius? Maybe. Will you enjoy it anyway? Sure. Such intrepid tunes as "Who's Got the Crack?" and "Downloading Porn With Davo" have that sort of train wreck/Jerky Boys/"In six months I won't recognize this song if it bites me in the ass" appeal. The slower, ballady stuff even manages a goofy kinda sweetness: "All I wanna do is ride bikes with you/And stay up late and watch cartoons." Just don't mistake "cute" for "brilliant." And for God's sake, don't mistake the steak for chicken.

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