Hank's debut album, How to Prosper in the Coming Bad Years, was one of those DIY surprises we're afforded a couple of times every year: A manic, scattershot pile of tunes salvaged from an alternate universe pop landfill, released in a limited edition that gave each copy its own unique artwork. It was a chaotic mess, but it was charming in its way, not to mention insidiously catchy.
The follow-up, Ackrill/Venning '91 doesn't exude the same amount of curio charm that elevated its predecessor. It has its moments of inspired lunacy, but at 10 songs in less than 19 minutes, it doesn't have time to get its hooks in you, and the misfires loom all the larger. When you have a song that lasts all of 1:36 and consists of nothing but a woman singing, "I do not not not not not/ Like getting fucked over by my friends" over a couple of pretty basic garage band beats, it begs for context, but as it is, "Getting Fucked Over By Your Friends" is just pretty annoying. And amateurish vocals can be great, but there's a definable line between unstudied and just horrendously off-key, which is what the singing on the over-distorted "Avoid the Docks" is.
It's not all bad, of course. At their best, Hank fit in pretty comfortably between Swell Maps and the Go! Team. The prophetically titled "Danes in Peril!" is a great opener, with a call-and-response between what sounds like a couple of cheerleaders and an old English wino over a sturdy acoustic guitar riff and New Wave drums. "Lakeshore Report Diluted: Sources" has a sort of mutant Northern Soul rhythm track and comes off like a Motown song after ten generations of enthusiastic in-breeding. Two slower songs are strangely ingratiating: "Dark Country" is a nice creepy crawler with some amusing spoken-word bits, a good bass part and simulated steel guitar, with the great refrain "I dedicate this to all my dead friends," while "He Forgot My Name" overcomes its weird, childlike female vocals (not quite on pitch at any point) to create an oddly haunting atmosphere.
Even with these peaks, though, there's a sense when the album comes to a close with the pinched fuzz-rock of "My Non-Fights" that something's missing, and the album isn't really satisfying. And anyway, this is music that most people will either love for its exuberant lack of discipline or hate for the very same reason, and something makes me suspect the former camp will leave wishing for a bigger dose.
