Fans of Foxy Shazam, take note: I've just heard a Foxy-lite act that you may wind up loving just as much as you do FS. They're called The Gay Blades, and they bill themselves as "an NYC trash pop duo," but don't let that label scare you away, because they are in no way, shape, or form a "trash pop" band. If they were, I might've really liked them.
The album starts out quasi-trashily enough with "Rock N' Roll (Part I)," a pretentiously named Black Keys-ian stomper that is wholly unrelated to the Gary Glitter song of the same title. But from there, it takes a sharp right turn into the campy, cornball, Queen-inspired territory previously trodden by the aforementioned Foxy Shazam.
Clearly, the not-untalented young men of The Gay Blades (they're a duo in name only; a production this big, with full rock-band instrumentation, likely cannot be implemented in a live setting by just two people) listened to a lot of original cast recordings of Andrew Lloyd Webber productions during their formative years. Then, they went on to star in their high school's stagings of said shows and, when not onstage, sang like Freddie Mercury in front of their bedroom mirrors. Then, they started this rock band called The Gay Blades and tried to jam every flavor-of-the-month rock-isms into their songs.
That's really all you need to know about The Gay Blades. They're nothing if not ebullient and a little ostentatious. It's hard to hate them, even if you feel like you want to. As with Foxy Shazam, you will either love The Gay Blades or just accept their existence and hope to God you will not be stuck at a gathering where everyone loves the band and begins singing their songs in the sort of over-the-top fashion that people tend to do with Journey songs.
Best song: "Burns and Shakes," which oddly sounds like Rocket From the Crypt's "Glazed" if that song were to be performed on Glee.
Deja vu: "We're Gonna Score Tonight," from Grease 2.
I'd rather listen to: FS' self-titled record from earlier this year.
"Nothing Not New" is a yearlong project in which New Times editorial operations manager Jay Bennett, a 41-year-old music fan and musician, will listen only to music released in 2010. Each Monday through Friday, he will listen to one new record (no best ofs, reissues, or concert recordings) and write about it. Why? Because in the words of his editor, Martin Cizmar, he suffers from "aesthetic atrophy," a wasting away of one's ability to embrace new and different music as one ages. Read more about this all-too-common ailment here.
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