If you’ve been reading this blog for a while (God help you, poor child if you have – it is beyond likely that your soul is forfeit), you may have read the review of the previous Booji Boys record (s/t) which came out in 2017. Or perhaps you saw that very same record was my number 2 LP in my best LPs of 2017 list (no mean feat, I assure you). In which case, Booji Boys should need no introduction, you already know they fuckin’ rule mate. If however, you are new to this blog, well then, abandon hope all ye that read from these pages, and bon audio voyage (as the French might say) on your mission to discover the Booji Boys…
So, last time around, we established that these young hoods are from Nova Scotia, and take their name from a pantheon of odd characters devised by Devo. Sure, that’s cool. Everyone needs a hobby, mate. I’ll not get into my own forays into the wider world of total loserdom. If you can’t help yourself but investigate further, go here. That’s the cross I have to bear everyday to ensure I maintain my basic balance of sanity in this cruel cruel world.
As I was sorta getting around to saying, last time around, I got super elated by the immediacy of the Booji Boys’ mad antics. On this, Weekend Rocker, their second full length effort in a little under a year (it’s not 100% clear to me whether this should be classed as a 2017 or 2018 release – pre-orders went up on Xmas day, when the digital version was also made available), it took me a little longer to be fully hooked in. Not loads longer – just a bit. The pay-off is well worth the extra couple of listens, though – and that’s literally all the groundwork that’s needed. The sound is in principle more of the same breed of art school post-punk, served with a heavy dose of fuzz and reverb on the vocals and guitar.
Just whack it on yeah? The player is here:
I think that while the s/t album had an out and out giddy vibe to it, this one feels a bit more, well, serious. At least as serious as a punked-up Devo meets X-Ray Spex meets the Coneheads kinda shtick can get at any rate. When you dig a bit deeper, you’ll see that this is all heavily underscored by subtle similarities in craftsmanship to the finer moments of fellow Canadians, Fucked Up. This is something that’s more in evidence on the epic album closer Oh Yeah, which by clocking in at nigh on 8 minutes stands in stark contrast to the sub-2 minute nuggets of piss n’ vinegar that comprise the rest of the record –so you’ll also want to note them subtle stylistic similarities to classic Dillinger Four.
So, aye, perhaps it’s a bit of a departure from the amped up silliness of the debut. However, as you’ve no doubt (hopefully) deduced from my blathering above it’s no less frantic. I’d say the frenzy in fact has more of an acidity to it this time out, which I wholeheartedly welcome. Look, I’ve no real clue what the guy is actually howling about, but I read into it an element of existential pain or something. Could be odes to the contents of his fish tank for all I know. This is more than just a novelty act. These songs fucking slay. They fill me with a contradictory feeling of optimism and apocalyptic nihilism. Whack this on LOUD and party down, fuckers.
My cuts of choice include (but are not limited to): Sister, Locked up in the City, and Satisfaction.
Tony of Nurgle rating: 10/10