Country Teasers wander expertly into dissonance and back in a way that gives intensity to their music, like having your song and anti-song too. Halfway between the Scene Is Now and Electric Eels (sadly those band names won’t mean anything to most readers, but the people who do know them will go, “Oh! Cool!”). Sometimes the music on Full Moon Empty Sportsbag will have a Fall-like circus-of-irritation feel (“Fall” the band not “Fall” the season, since the Teasers are more a restive, mucky spring), singer B.R. Wallers being relentlessly morose while the instruments gaily flip in and out of line (and calypso singers laugh at them, and musclemen throw tigers). Other acts in their repertoire: jug-band music played by windup toys, searing rock played by kitchen appliances, street-artiste music played by clowns and buskers (a passing mime fingers an invisible accordion), sine waves that mimic air guitars (with more fake accordion to maintain the Parisian street ambience, but in 3/4 time for our Central European visitors).
“The passage of time is fucking me off/And making me very depressed/Anna Kournikova was 15 years old/When she entered the world of sex.” The singer remains cranky and belligerent, no matter what games the musicians are playing. He’ll jostle pedestrians, then wander off to the side, muttering “Get off of my planet”; or he’ll order us to feel self-pity at funerals. Then, speaking on behalf of his penis, he’ll announce, ” ‘All I wanna do is fuck,’ says the cock.” But really, it sounds like it’d rather take a piss. “The Cock” doubles here as the name of a tavern (“50 pints of lager in the Cock,” Wallers proclaims, referring to one or the other). “I’m in a really bad mood.” No shit.