By Bryan Bierman
By Lindsey Rhoades
By Chaz Kangas
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Jena Ardell
By Jesse Sendejas Jr.
By Katherine Turman
By Steve Weinstein
Ghostfinger's Richie Kirkpatrick can't decide whether he wants to be Mick making like Gram, Alice mugging like Iggy, or Dulli aping Prince. But that's a plus where his avidly referential trio's mélange of twang, pop-metal, and DMSR is concerned. As advertised by the title of their 2005 debut, These Colors Run, the 'Finger refuse to settle on one tone over anotheror in Kirkpatrick's case, to settle down; the manic, mustachioed ringleader is all over the place and everywhere at once.
"Content," for example, is anything but contented, jerking fiendishly from trash-can cabaret to hooligan 'stomp 'n' grind to pedal-steel promenade. "Love My Head," by contrast, is an impish pastiche of Rush and Queen, while in the devolutionary "Aminal Eye," Kirkpatrick interpolates Chuck D and Hal David and screams for ice cream. Two too many homages to "Far Away Eyes" make the record's mid-section drag, but "Rock," its next to last track, more than makes up for things. Hardly as monolithic as its title lets on, "Rock" segues, tongue in cheek, from a protracted proggy intro to a stadium-certified, and wholly earned, chorus of "We're gonna rock/We're gonna fuck/We're gonna rock rock rock rock, fuckin' rock."
Ghostfinger play the Trash Bar May 12.