(No Quarter/Shock Records)

Obsessive compulsives with five tickets on the groove train.

Endless Boogie aren’t sure if they came here to party, fight or fuck. I’m not even sure they know the difference, where one ends and where the other begins. Endless Boogie (four middle-aged classic rock tragics from New York) is to a sea of trim, well-groomed upper middle class angsty, quasi-gritty guitar rock bands what The Fall and Mark E. Smith were to early punk – they’ve managed to take the minimalist chug of droning stoner rock and make it sound even more brainless, but in quite a clever and fun way. Eight tracks in just under 80 minutes should let you know what you’re getting into. No, this isn’t the overblown prog histrionics of Emerson, Lake & Volta, Full House Head is so far on the other end of the spectrum it’s almost come back around again. Each track never has more than one or two distinct passages, repeated ad infinitum as various guitar squeals snake their way through, with rare snippets of mumbled lyrics that sound like they’re soaked in whiskey and are neither profound or absurd. They just are, and now they’re gone. Underground heroes in their hometown New York – although this is said about every New York band until some sneaky Pitchfork prat shouts it from the rooftop about their clandestine nature – Endless Boogie are unrelenting in their pursuit of the perfect inebriated party jam, and don’t dare stray off this rock & psych course. Brash, obnoxious, primal, proficient but ultimately enjoying themselves. Essentially, this is what Barry and Sonic Death Monkey will sound like.

****

MITCH ALEXANDER

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