Irony is dead, the punditocracy twittered a few years back. I always thought that was bogus, particularly as the idea of emotionally honest music devolved into a marketing pose called "emo." Hell, just last week soon-to-be-erstwhile Secretary of State Colin Powell said the Bush Administration would refuse to recognize the closely contested electoral victor in Ukraine. But if shock-savoring joke-punk group Dwarves' latest album is any bellwether, perhaps all those The New York Times Op-Ed writers and cable-news talking hairdos were onto something after all.
Back when Dwarves ruled the earth (or at least the stoned free time of certain Circle Jerks-worshipping Blockbuster clerks), the joke was on any square who took them seriously. Dwarves' kinky brand of hardcore punk was as funny as it was offensive. "Old enough to pee, then she's old enough for me," barked frontman Blag Dahlia on "Let's Fuck" from the band's 1990 master (masturbatory?) stroke, Blood Guts & Pussy. But then 2000's buttfuck-by-numbers Come Clean marked a clear softening from hilarious stupidity to stupid stupidity.
This time the joke's on Dwarves. The sad thing is they don't even seem to realize it (more on that later). I wish the problem were just that their shock value had worn off, although it has. Little person on a crucifix and three naked chicks? Please, we've lived through Marilyn Manson and Simple Life 2. "Fuck Eat and Fuck You Up" has a momentarily amusing title, but who really wants to listen to White Zombie verses and Smashmouth choruses?
One of the few traditional hardcore tracks-- "Dominator", recycled from last year's The L.A. Shakedown compilation-- steals a metaphor from "California Love": "You can't touch me/ I'm Elliot Ness." Washed-up perv-rockers ripping off 2Pac and Dre isn't funny; it's pathetic and derivative, much like the cookie-cutter pop-punk of single "Salt Lake City", which features The Offspring's Dexter Holland. If there's any gleeful evil left in guitarist HeWhoCanNotBeNamed, he's wishing he could reprise the hoax of his own death that got the band canned from Sub Pop.
It's tough when you pick on targets half your size and you're Dwarves. The aforementioned "Salt Lake City" calls out the Osmonds for their lameness. Thank you, Captain Obvious. "Massacre"-- one of a few misguided excursions into lobotomized rap-rock-- similarly disses sucka MCs like "Bad" Charlotte, "Queens of the Trust Fund", MTV, and Creed. Wait, Scott Stapp sucks now? Shit, I thought he rocked "God Bless America" during the World Series! "Runaway #2", is a bit stronger, infusing classic Ramones punk with (what else?) lyrics about Oedipal hospital bathroom fellatio. And admirers of quasi-Gregorian chants, Beastie Boy scratching and post-Downward Spiral Nine Inch Nails will soil their bloody briefs for "Christ on a Mic". It's ambitious, but then so is jihad. Come to think of it, maybe Dwarves should write a song about what they'd do with 10,000 virgins, or any other topic that might make them something close to relevant in 2004.
A THC-addled voice mumbles deep in my subconscious: "Whoa, but man, what if, like, that's why the album is brilliant? Sure, it seems like idiocy upon idiocy, but what if that's the intentional construct of punk-rock demigods working on Another Level? After all, former Dwarves member and current Queen of the Stone Age Nick Oliveri appears on the record, too..." In that case the album might be ironic, after all, but so what? If you're looking for shitty songs possibly spoofing shitty songs about shitty bands and shitty fucking, this Blag's for you.
