From a fan's perspective, Norway's Turbonegro have epitomized everything that can go wrong with a rock band. After releasing two amazingly deprived, hedonistic, sometimes downright unsettling punk-rock albums in the late 90's (1997's Ass Cobra and 1999's Apocalypse Dudes), the band broke up amidst self-perpetuated rumors of rock'n'roll excess, drug abuse, and mental breakdowns. In the years that followed, however, the band's popularity grew, especially stateside, where they were practically unknown during their original tenure. In 2002, they returned with Scandinavian Leather, an album that placed more emphasis on mid-tempo rock than any of their work so far, and although it was a definite step down from previous work, it still delivered plenty of the band's characteristic sub-toilet humor while showcasing their impressive musicianship.
But really, it didn't come as much of a surprise that Scandinavian Leather didn't deliver the same quality as the pre-breakup albums. How often does a band return from a split and maintain their momentum? And unfortunately, Turbonegro have continued their downward descent with their sixth studio album, Party Animals, a steaming pile of generic cock-rock with hardly a trace of the "death punk" the band began bashing out over a decade ago.
For a band that has used surprise and shock value to their credit so often in the past, to hear Turbonegro slink their way into such a predictable pattern is a disappointment to say the least. Just like the two albums before it, Party Animals begins with a brief intro before launching into the first true song. But unlike the other two intros, this one is just a mess, combining obnoxious guitar soloing, an unintelligible robotic voice over, and a "We Will Rock You" style drum beat. It's more irritating than anything, and it does nothing to ramp up the listener for the rest of the album.
The first real song, "All My Friends Are Dead", is one of the better tracks, but even so it wouldn't quite hold up in the context of the band's stronger work. It's on par with some of the more upbeat work from Scandinavian Leather as your basic three-chord punk, but it's also the first sign of how crisp and clean of the album sounds, thanks in part to Redd Kross bassist/producer Steve McDonald. And from there on, it's a miss-or-horribly-miss affair until the end. "Blow Me Like the Wind" is way too catchy for its own good, and singer Hank Von Helvete's lyrics are so insipid you'll crave the depth of such past hits as "Wipe It 'Til It Bleeds." A sample: "If I gave you a dime, would you blow my paradigm? If I gave you my candle, would it be too hot to handle? If I ran for election, would you support my erection?"
Don't get me wrong; I expect sexual puns from Turbonegro, but I also expect something at least mildly clever and humorous. But Party Animals is neither of those. About the most clever thing here is the track "If You See Kaye" (saying it out loud might help to spell out the joke for you, a pun already used by the Poster Children). Elsewhere the band apes everyone from the Dead Boys ("Wasted Again") to Van Halen ("Stay Free"), and continues with the intentionally just-barely-offensive lyrics.
The album's worst offender is "City of Satan", which brings back the generic beat you'd hoped to forget from the intro, and features an unlistenable sing-along refrain. But then, about four minutes in, something odd happens. The rhythm changes, the vocals almost completely drop away, and horns and strings join in to punch up the melody. It's like they wanted Bob Ezrin to produce, but could only afford him for those two minutes. This then is the most frustrating aspect of Party Animals: These guys are incredibly talented musicians and arrangers. If they pulled out the strong parts of each song and scrapped the garbage, we'd have an EP that would easily stand alongside anything the band has done in the past.
Of course, that's not how it turned out. Party Animals is a failure. It's the sound of a band trying to keep their growing fan base on the upswing, while completely running out of new ideas; the sound of a band collapsing under the weight of their own gimmick.
