The reason I wanted to hear the full Cream EP from this band had about 40% to due with their sound, and about 70% to due with the fact that I have a friend named Creamy P. When we were in college he was all hammered and complaining about his unquenching thirst, so to shut him up I grabbed the only thing in the fridge, a half gallon carton of heavy whipping cream. Normally you wouldn't see that sort of shit in a college kitchen, but we were into The Big Lebowski and white russians were sort of our thing, as were the unnecessary calories and all of a sudden drunkenness that tags along with the russians that are white. Pete didn't complain and sat there taking sips of heavy whipping cream in between rips off the two footer, and when he had reached an appropriate level of intoxication, proceeded to chug the shit out of the carton. I imagine the chugging happening in slow motions, so the creams, it just cascades from the sides of his mouths bro bro.
Hence, Creamy P.
Upon downloading the Cream EP (not to be confused with Creamy P), I was super happs on the craps that The Wallies dudes sound exactly like a modern (and spritely) mish mash between the Arctic Monkeys and that roadhouse bar band that tours the country in a shitty van and sells tshirts they make with sharpies and CDs they burn labeled with only a hand drawn sketch of a penis in between each tour stop. It's got that slightly sloppy, yet delightfully smooth vocal delivery that compliments the twang swag of the guitar (no homo), and on nearly every single track they're displaying a ridiculous amount of potential, before patiently backing off from the propensity to go fucking ape shit.
Seriously, over half of the songs on the Creamy P, sorry, the Cream EP are those types of songs where you can feel they're about to fucking get fucking buck, but the fact that they reel it in is pretty fucking awesome. It's that sitting on the edge of your toilet seat waiting for insanity that never comes, until of course you aren't expecting it, that gives The Wallies a Strokes-esque twinge in the rectum that is indie rock in 2012.
While the opening track Wrong Way is fucking delicious in its patience, and subsequent mind blowingness, it's the track Striptease that kind of moistens the satchel to beyond pliable. I mean, I'm fucking taking my tshirt off and putting it around my bald ass dome in place of a mane of rock hair and I'm fucking playing air guitar with my head tilted back and foot up on one of my kids' backs as they double as one of my fucking stage monitors. This is dirty and surprisingly low calorie fucking indie rock and roll and it's exactly what I want to hear when people submit music to SYFFAL.
If this band was an essential oil found in a health food store, they would be a mixture between the sweat of a meerkat and the liver secretions of a five car pile up on I-55 headed south.
I fucking love The Wallies bro bro.