Some Girls play blast-bleated, quick-moving songs that feature the odd harmonic-driven repetitive breakdown or grisly feedback buzz, and they employ a vocalist who probably loses his voice after loudly spweing stream-of-horror-consciousness, body-fixated lyrics at every show. Depending on what you've been listening to the past 10 years, this will either lead you to start playing this kind of music, send you digging into the crates for your old Locust records, or both.
With some alcohol and jaded friends around, you could play battle of the "celebrity" hardcore bands, and pit Some Girls (The Locust, Unbroken) against Das Oath (Charles Bronson, Coalition Records) or Limp Wrist (Los Crudos, Kill The Man Who Questions): I have played this game, and Limp Wrist always wins.
Here's the thing: dudes want to grow up. Come your late-20s, the adoration of a sea of kids with Crudos back-patches and spock-rocked hair means nil. For scene vets like Some Girls, there's been an ex-band tag on every flyer they've graced: The band members own labels (bassist Justin Pearson's Three One G), maybe own their own houses, and sport fake moustaches (all of them). No wonder they're done with childish things like hooks and being nice to kids at shows.
In punk parlance, we call this the Public Image Ltd. Corollary, and discerning listeners will notice "Religion II" sitting squarely at track 10; "discerning" because vocalist Wes Eisold's still got something caught in his throat, and the pace only falls off one or two tics, though the chorus is can't miss: "THIS IS RELIGION." As metaphor, it's a pretty explicit one: They're doing the maturity thing, but still doing it loudly.
"Ex Nuns/Dead Dogs" has a Swing Kids wicked down-stroke but idles, stuck on the chord till it obliterates the predictable next one: then it shows up, breakneck again into blurry guitars and sneered punch lines, a yelled heresy: "Dee eye vee oh are see es eye in es tee ee ee pea el ee es oh in ef eye are eek ay ee ee pea oh in bee you are in eye in gee em ee," nonsense syllables not meant to be decoded either by the divine, or by the Locust-jockers with "Get off the Cross, the Wood Is Needed" tattoos.
Heaven's Pregnant Teens is not a favorite song record-- Some Girls trade in sonic aesthetics not moments-- plus the lyrics are too scattered to grab and the songs are too short to bother memorizing. It's more of a mood thing, which ought to be deliberate, even if it isn't. After all, when's the last time you saw a Brian Eno back-patch?
