That the basic tenets of garage-rock have not changed in the four decades separating Black Monk Time and Black Lips is not a comment on the music's regressive nature as much as its enduring utility. Whether the war's happening in Vietnam or Iraq, garage-rock is essentially the musical equivalent of a superhero comic book-- it transforms shy, socially awkward young men into fuzzbox-stomping, skirt-chasing, government-overthrowing revolutionaries. The mostly failed attempts in the early part of this decade to reposition the music as a marketable hipster commodity overlooked this fundamental quality-- garage-rock is not a music for the masses; it's the private, fantastical domain of misfits.
And in that sense, Austin, Texas, quartet the Strange Boys come just as advertised, coming on like the kids who sit in the back of the class and would gladly sign up for another hour of detention because it at least gives them something to look forward to. The Nuggets-vintage rudiments are all in place on Girls Club: maximized R&B rhythms and bright Rickenbacker strums; trebly, AM-radio-quality production (making them a natural In the Red addition); and, in frontman Ryan Sambol, a suitably nasal mouthpiece who suggests a young Bob Dylan had he spent more of his formative years in juvie halls than coffeehouses. But the Strange Boys' debut is notable for what it doesn't do-- though their songs are rife with references to guns, death, and terrorism, the Strange Boys do not behave like angry young men railing against the indignities of our time. They're just a little worried and confused, maintaining a steady, roadhouse-blues beat indicative of a band just trying to keep their shit together as the world around them seems to come apart. This sense of uncertainty is perfectly embodied by Sambol, who doesn't know whether he should get fucked up or join a militia-- as he wails on "They're Building the Death Camps": "I'm scared because no one else around me seems scared/ I'd buy a gun and be prepared."
That the Strange Boys never actually blow their tops may prove a liability for garage-rock heads looking for more fierce, swift kicks, especially over the course of a 16-track album that would benefit from a few edits; straightforward bluesy shuffles like "Who Needs Who More" and "Probation Blues" sound like they would hit a lot harder in a live setting than the tempered, lo-fi presentation they're given here. But the Strange Boys are the kind of band that seem weirder and more threatening the nicer they play it, drawing us closer into Sambol's peculiar psyche: "Should Have Shot Paul" is a memo to Mark David Chapman delivered in a jaunty jangle and high-pitched harmonies, and within the graceful, Greenwich Village folk-rock of "Then", Sambol casually recounts the U.S. government's involvement in 9/11 as if it were received wisdom. Even his most graceful, open-hearted songs-- the swooning "No Way for a Slave to Behave" and the standout soul strut "A Man You've Never Known"-- carry a whiff of misanthropy. "Please understand," Sambol sings on the latter track, "it's my job to write songs/ Allow me to do whatever I want." And that is why generations of young men keep going back to the garage-- it's the only place in this world you can do just that.
