Keep Shoplifting’s debut away from those with suicidal tendencies. Body Stories will make ’em bust out a rusty razor and go cut, cut, cut. There are detuned guitars; hookless riffs that lunge for the jugular; frenetic, lockstep punk-funk beats that are the only sign of musical ability.
And the lyrics wallow in the grotesque. “Male Gynecology” is a graphic pursuit of the obviously impossible because, as singer Chris Pugmire coolly sings, “there’s no shame in possibility.” On “Claude Glass,” the other singer, Hannah, empowers herself with Bikini Kill’s riot grrrl sass by listlessly cooing, “Tell me you’ll concave me/Take your hand and spread me/Are you gloved?/Now take me.” Gross, even if it is a coping mechanism for getting “a wrinkled bill on my thigh.”
But Body Stories isn’t some deranged BDSM freakfest. In fact, this two-boy–two-girl four-piece try to make sense of a world plagued with terrorism, homophobia, rape, confusion from sex, etc. Yet trying to apply, say, Evergreen State liberal arts degrees, like third-rate academics they almost never offer solutions, preferring to drop loaded phrases that stem from an almost endless well of angst. Right, like grunge.
Shoplifting play Knitting Factory May 7.