The good-for-nothing good ol' boys of Natural Child must be stopped. This is a band that titled an earlier record 1971, a year these sprites clearly wished to have experienced, and are now plotting to name the rest of their output after fucking Kevin Costner movies. Their latest disc of shameless stoner rock, For the Love of the Game, was put out by the enablers at Burger Records, whose entire MO is the dissemination of similarly irresponsible rockers like Jacuzzi Boys and Diarrhea Planet. If you thought that was bad, wait 'til you hear the three heretics from Natural Child refry the classic rock canon. On "8AM Blues," they have the gall to close out their hazy, Stonesy stomp by repeatedly singing the words "like a rolling stone." No lie — as if they invented that very phrase. "Paradise Heights" approximates a reggae groove through slinky swung bass and big, dumb floor toms, sounding like white boys who know they aren't equipped for the task but are having a lark with it anyway. If I were living next door to these little shits, I'd probably storm out late on a weeknight in my bedtime Crocs, banging on their windows to nix the damn racket. Problem is, I'd surely feel bad once I got a good listen to their irrepressibly fun jams, and the guys would likely hand me a Natty Light in neighborly repentance after inviting me inside.
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