The Little Killers
The Little Killers (2003)
Brian Shultz
Imagine if the Ramones grew up listening to Chuck Berry and tried applying it to a garage rock/punk formula. They probably wouldn't pull it off too well, right? Neither do the Little Killers, regardless of how much press they've received.
The effort is somewhat admirable, but listening to the trio's self-titled debut full-length on the practically-reincarnated Crypt Records is like riding on a train when you were little. You first get on and say to yourself, "wow, this is fun! Everything's going by fast, but looks so cool! I can even ride backwards!" Fifteen minutes pass and you're either passed the fuck out or so bored you want to get off. This album has the same effect, and is only 28 minutes long to begin with.
The first few songs sound pretty interesting, when you get over the fact that this genre's template for recording quality is painstakingly rough. There's a simple chord progression that keeps things uptempo if not completely raw, a nice solo at one point, and a bluesy harmonica that introduces "Jenna Lee." However, this chord progression keeps showing up later…doing the same thing…over and over again…much like drunk Uncle Fred every Thanksgiving. The vocals sing each song the same way, as if the band just substituted the lyrics without changing the vocal melody. Every song runs into each other like melted butter, save for the girls' part of the band's chorus line of "pucker up, pucker up!" in the eighth track (if and when you listen to this song, don't take it seriously for sanity's sake). "Choppin' Block" closes the album ridiculously abrupt and has no real finish.
Going simple and straightforward is usually the key to success in punk rock, but there's always the risk of monotony. I hate to say that The Little Killers, despite their name, have largely fallen victim.