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Brooklynites Dish Up Fast Food That Sticks to the Ribs
Kevin O'Donnell
Tuesday, July 19th 2005
Cheeseburger's second EP (what, too lazy for a full-length?) is a 16-minute, six-song hedonistic strut about Brooklyn's wasteland of slackers (not as smart as Richard Linklater's Texans). Sounds like it'd be utter garbage, but this threesome pulls off crunk-punk with humor and attitude, and for all their duct-taped-instrument formalism, Cheeseburger do have chops: Christy Karacas's guitar is always tuned though he only knows three chords, Joe Bradley seethes his kiss-offs through a nicotine-laced nose candy cackle, and Luke Crotty sure can swing a triplet though his drums could use a skin tightening.
In many ways, this is the ultimate pre-game record to please both boorish Stooges loyalists and giggly Tenacious D crackpots. On Gang's All Here, Iggy's "bunch of fucking queers" hang tough with Jack Black's fratboy fans, Bradley included: "Let's get another round, until we all fall down," he moans. Other key moments include a send-up of the Grateful Dead number they never wrote ("Saturday Night") and a jealous love song about a girl who "makes her living on her hands and knees" not by waxing floors. Unlike Spinal Tap's fictional Smell the Glove, Cheeseburger's latest will still stink so good when the joke wears thin.
Cheeseburger play the Mercury Lounge July 28.
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