Most bands who play garage rock started listening to music their freshmen year of college, when they found out rollerblades weren’t cool and pretended they liked whatever the asshole selling pot had on their cd player. That’s what makes mistakes like The Vines.
Let me let you in on a little secret: Craig Nichols is retarded – he had an excuse. Self-referential garage rock is about as low as someone can get. It’s like fucking your sister. Thank god Triple Hex knows their music history enough to dig into the depths of The Stooges and The Cramps and churn out a short record that proves that the fuzzbox hasn't been strip-mined of meaning yet.
This isn’t to say that Triple Hex’s album is some freak purist garage manifesto. It’s just a good solid rock album without any petulant lyrics about other people not getting it or whatever. The three members sing about hot Puerto Rican girls on the JMZ, for chrissakes. How can you hate on that? The whole record is a good, minimalistic classic. Oh, and big nod to the Acetone electric organ.
