It seems in recent years, Denver has been a psych rock crucible, and The Pretty Shabbies’ new record, FICTION, is the latest piece to come out of the city. Their self-proclaimed “pulpy” manages to reconcile sounds and influences from past and present, in pursuit of the future.
The front of the album is a back-to-back cacophony with songs like “Crazy Glue,” which sounds as if System of a Down woke up as The Beach Boys and then dropped acid. The song “Burnt Sugar” somehow makes string instruments sound like they’re drunk, and a strong bass drives the whole album from bassist Ace Stanley. The songs blend elements of a sort of crooner jazz with the distant and dissonant wailing of electric guitars evoking feelings of sitting in a smokey lounge, squinting at the poker dealer over a two and seven in your hand that you’re gonna 100% bluff on. Either that, or a general feeling of drug induced paranoia.
After the song, “Hey Now,” which is clearly a tom-drum-beating protest anthem against rising fascism, the sound defined so far gives way to something more care-free and jammy, with tracks like “8 Mile Bossa,” “Headbutter,” and “Popskull Whiskey.” “8 Mile Bossa” is a bossa nova track about white rappers (I don’t know what else I expected from a song called “8 Mile Bossa”), and “Headbutter” wears its inspiration on its sleeve with a spoken word cadence starkly similar to Beck, maybe with some Sublime influence thrown in the mix.
The back half of the album does contrast a bit with the front both sonically and thematically, but it is altogether charming. So, the next time you’re playing cards, wearing a plaid blazer, driving through Commerce City; or feeling some combination of gritty, schmaltzy, and/or hairy; The Pretty Shabbies’ FICTION might be the record for you.
