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Ribs - British Brains - Album Review

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By: Joel Frieders
album review, ribs, british brains, indie, rock, boston
Album Rating:
9

I was scared to listen to a band named Ribs for three reasons:

  1. While I really don't eat much meat anymore, well prepared ribs are one of the things that keep me from going full-on vegeanatarian. I have actually killed people and insects for many many plates of ribs.
  2. The band name is fucking awesome, regardless of if it's an acronym or not. But if it WERE an acronym? Riding Infantile Bicycles Soppily. Raping Investigative Bipolar Sasquatches. Roids Impair Ball Size. I CAN GO ON BROS.
  3. When I think about a band having gone through the naming process and deciding on Ribs as the name, they are either complete fucking assholes with no fucking talent, or they're throwing you off intentionally with a goofy name just to be fucking assholes.

Either way you take that last one, Ribs are a band of fucking assholes.

But holy fucking shit, talented fucking assholes. Ribs are fucking delicious.

Ribs might have the exact sound that I have been recently deficient in. They sound like a modern day FILTER, where instead of a near complete reliance on electronic manipulation, they tastefully drizzle the shit only where it would enhance the fucking flavor. It's the exact sound I wanted, exactly when I needed it.

Trading between a dominating FILTER-esque sound and a few moments of my beloved Eve6, Ribs have inserted their phalanges into my past listening habits and pulled out a perfect fucking combination of distortion, calmly intense vocals, and drums where if you're not wearing a tie, you're a fucking asshole. While I have no idea if the drummer wears ties during shows, I'm pretty sure the muthafucker wore one while recording this shit because it doesn't just SOUND classy, it sounds like it has a full time job, a mortgage, a Wii Fit and a convenient Jamba Juice location on the way to work where he can toss back a wheatgrass shooter (because we all know Jamba Juice puts artificial sweeteners in their juices so THEY CAN SUCK A COCK THE SIZE OF THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING! Fuck YOU JAMBA JUICE!).

The digi-distortion on the guitars all over the Ribs British Brains EP, album, whattheFuckeverthisis, are dripping in late-90s, which I fucking love the fucking Fuck out of, and yet I still only have one complaint.

THERE ISN'T ENOUGH MUSIC ON THIS shit BROS.

MAKE MORE RIBS.

FECKFECES!

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