The DeathMedicine Band

From This Normality We've Taken Our Leave

8
8 out of 10
Brandon Backhaus | November 16, 2015

Don't know much about these pricks, but goddamn if they didn't up and gut punch my nut guts without asking permission. And that's the kind of initiative that gets this kind of noisy shit that nobody normal likes made. Even the album title made me want to fucking hi-five myself, From This Normality We've Taken Our Leave.

The name of the band, The DeathMedicine Band, reminded me of those fucking death shrooms that alternate versions of Super Mario Brobros throws at you from time to time and make you chuck your controller across the room and submit to Koopa once and for fucking all.

Fuck a princess, amiright!?

It also reminds me of the now-closed concept restaurant here in LA called, Red Medicine. It was the kind of place to make a pork tenderloin look like a log on the forest floor. That has nothing to do with how much I want to put this music inside my body, but more commentary on my own love of fine dining while at the same time never not making fun of the "approachable" cocktails and artisanal butter. 

With From This Normality We've Taken Our Leave (heretofore: FTNWTOL), there's a college radio nod to important college radios that don't exist anymore. Kind of night where pimply junior undergrad invites traveling punk rock San Franciscans into her little studio on the campus of University of BFE and ball-washes said band with fellatio-level adoration. It's the kind of hand job bands can only get from independent music blogs anymore. 

[Gives lotion a pump] 

There's also a bar band bravado in the best sense of basking in the glory of 15 person shows where the band is asked to leave and never come back after leaving the establishment trashed and wondering what the fuck happened. If these guys haven't fucking trashed a hotel room or twenty, go buy this fucking tape because, I FIRMLY believe it's their birthright. 

Even though I don't know The DeathMedicine Band, I want to sip whiskey from the bottle, and smoke my last lucky cigarette on the green and worn thrift store couch in their garage. 

Tell me I'm wrong!