Some Girls @ Kings Arms in June
Tuesday 30th May, 2006 12:00PM
In a world of tour support, Soundscan numbers, and official press days, Some Girls is laughing and talking smack on the whole mess.
Says Pearson, “People take shit too seriously—especially with hardcore. It’s a friggin' men’s room ... who gives a shit? I sure as hell don’t. Hardcore is dead.”
Some Girls play at the Kings Arms on June 13th
bio
From Led Zeppelin’s great coke-stuffed, sex blooze to Velvet Revolver’s corporate money-suck, supergroups are a gamble. Sure, band X is great and so is band Y but put band X’s singer and bassist together with band Y’s drummer and—way too often—you get a mess, killer in concept, a slop of toxic anti-cohesion and unrealized ideas in execution.
Some Girls is made from scraps and pieces of punk murder junkies The Locust, Swing Kids, Crimson Curse, Holy Molar (Justin Pearson, bass), Give Up The Ghost, American Nightmare (Wes Eisold, singing), Unbroken, Over My Dead Body (Rob Moran, guitar) Plot to Blow Up The Eiffel Tower (Chuck Rowell, guitar) and is rounded out by the swollen brains of a recording studio (Sal Gallegos, drums).
But whatever image that gives you—whatever you dream up from the various matings and crossbreeding—is probably way off. Or maybe it’s dead on. Whatever it is, the guys in the band don’t care. They started Some Girls as a side-project—music for the sake of making hard noise—they record songs when they want, play shows if they’re in the mood.
In a world of tour support, Soundscan numbers, and official press days, Some Girls is laughing and talking smack on the whole mess.
Says Pearson, “People take shit too seriously—especially with hardcore. It’s a friggin' men’s room ... who gives a shit? I sure as hell don’t. Hardcore is dead.” Moran adds simply, “being in Some Girls is beautiful ruin.” And so it goes with Some Girl’s debut full-lengther, All My Friends Are Going Death (Deathwish Inc/Three One G), part careless, sneering spit gobbed in the face, part beautiful ruin. Guitars and growled-to-pulp-vocal-chords steamroller into an undead rhino charge of drums and bass, fast, heavy, menacing and stalking like jungle tigers.
Fuck the pedigree. Forget the history. Here’s to new beginnings, you fucks.
Says Pearson, “People take shit too seriously—especially with hardcore. It’s a friggin' men’s room ... who gives a shit? I sure as hell don’t. Hardcore is dead.”
Some Girls play at the Kings Arms on June 13th
bio
From Led Zeppelin’s great coke-stuffed, sex blooze to Velvet Revolver’s corporate money-suck, supergroups are a gamble. Sure, band X is great and so is band Y but put band X’s singer and bassist together with band Y’s drummer and—way too often—you get a mess, killer in concept, a slop of toxic anti-cohesion and unrealized ideas in execution.
Some Girls is made from scraps and pieces of punk murder junkies The Locust, Swing Kids, Crimson Curse, Holy Molar (Justin Pearson, bass), Give Up The Ghost, American Nightmare (Wes Eisold, singing), Unbroken, Over My Dead Body (Rob Moran, guitar) Plot to Blow Up The Eiffel Tower (Chuck Rowell, guitar) and is rounded out by the swollen brains of a recording studio (Sal Gallegos, drums).
But whatever image that gives you—whatever you dream up from the various matings and crossbreeding—is probably way off. Or maybe it’s dead on. Whatever it is, the guys in the band don’t care. They started Some Girls as a side-project—music for the sake of making hard noise—they record songs when they want, play shows if they’re in the mood.
In a world of tour support, Soundscan numbers, and official press days, Some Girls is laughing and talking smack on the whole mess.
Says Pearson, “People take shit too seriously—especially with hardcore. It’s a friggin' men’s room ... who gives a shit? I sure as hell don’t. Hardcore is dead.” Moran adds simply, “being in Some Girls is beautiful ruin.” And so it goes with Some Girl’s debut full-lengther, All My Friends Are Going Death (Deathwish Inc/Three One G), part careless, sneering spit gobbed in the face, part beautiful ruin. Guitars and growled-to-pulp-vocal-chords steamroller into an undead rhino charge of drums and bass, fast, heavy, menacing and stalking like jungle tigers.
Fuck the pedigree. Forget the history. Here’s to new beginnings, you fucks.
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You can show your support to keep UnderTheRadar running by making a contribution. From $5, any amount can make a huge difference and keep us bringing you the best, comprehensive local content. ♥ Support UTR!