Cribshitter >> Worst Name Ever?

I can get with Pissed Jeans or Drunk Driver or even Made Out of Babies, and the lot of hipster irony bands attempt when finding a name for what they do – but Cribshitter is a name I just can’t roll with. The imagery, the scatalogic reference, the abject humor, just isn’t my bag. So, if this Madison, WI (yes, the Madison discs pour in like an avalanche, and I’m a Vikings fan?) ever receives a inkling of notoriety, can we agree this is the worst band name ever? There was a Columbus group named Poophouse Reilly, but those kids never got out of the treehouse. Blame the name guys (the music was pretty fucking horrible as well, fitting).

Actually, this isn’t too different from that awful band – a quartet circle jerking around the Ween barrel, with a hot girl on tuba (is that a gimmick?). There’s a ton of genre-hopping on Cribshitter’s debut Cry a Little Rainbow, and some of it’s digestible, like the Spanish cover of “Oh Yoko,” or the band’s attempt at cutesy electro-folk, see “Jared is Different Around Girls” and “Will You Go With Me” – but then again the album’s a marathon thirty tracks with more than enough juvenile pranks (a botched attempt at “Hotel California”) to steer away from actual talent. Perhaps I’m being too harsh, but band’s gotta’ get with it, that name’s gotta’ go. Maybe it’s the association with the name that makes the music stink so much? Worst name ever.

There's a Little Oberst in Icarus Himself

I must have a caucus of readership in Madison, WI, as a bulk of the discs I get sent to me are coming from the region. The National Beekeepers Society and Pale Young Gentlemen are sure to garner some national attention in the coming year. As for Icarus Himself, the solo project of NBS's Nick Whetro, persistence is key -- keep wallowing into the piano sir, and you'll soon find your voice. This first contact shows that Conor Oberst has direct control over youth like Nick. Mr. Whetro is quite adventurous in his own right, but seems to have taken buckshot from Bright Eyes' 360 degree skeet-shot over anywhere within 500 miles of his Great Plains center in Omaha.

"I lost my smile/In a 3rd World War" -- something resembling Pink Reason timid and frail before the prom. Whatever "Youth in Asia" is trying to exact, he's questioning the administration, the status quo, the stagnancy, as best he can. It's minimal goodness emotive enough with piano and space to keep me wanting more. Ain't no Xiu Xiu at least.

Gimme' Swag - Skidmore Fountain

Being a diligent blogger and trying to keep up with the trend-a-minute shifts in modern music, I have recently found, pays off (sort of). Brooklyn's Skidmore Fountain has the distinction of being the first band to send anything to the World of Wumme headquarters specifically. Congratulations. As much as I'd like to write a glowing review simply for the gesture of clogging my mailbox, I'm just not down with payola.

The sticker affixed claims Break is "post-post punk rock with wildly avant pieces." How can you be more post than post? I'll give em' the avant, as this is extremely in line with mid-90's maze-makers like Shudder to Think and the Dambuilders (thanks to a trigger-happy cello player), but I'm tempted to call this Orchestrated Incubus. The problem lies in singer Randy Bergida, who flogs any of his band's redeeming qualities with lyrics and vocal scree that suggest he got his training from Linkin Park or a host of half-life emo frontmen. Harsh, sure, but there are some awfully talented musicians in this bunch, and I'm inclined to give them the green light to reassess just what it is they are trying to accomplish in Skidmore Fountain. Being from Brooklyn does not afford you a free pass. There are bands like this everywhere, in every city. It's "frock" (friend rock), a genre that keeps thriving because all of this band's acquaintances don't have the heart to tell them the truth.

Still, keep sending me stuff, even hate mail.