The Spits The Spits V

Some bands don’t require evolution. For a little over fifteen years, the Spits have been churning album after album of flippant, grubby punk anthems without any clear indication of ever pursuing any aspirations besides not leaving empty handed at the end of the night. They’re like the local band that plays the corner venue over a hundred times a year – you’re sick and tired of them, yet something would feel out of place if you suddenly find out they’re not occupying your temporal lobe with all that nonsensical background clamor.

For the uninformed, the Seattle, Washington trio crank brisk garage rock with quite ease – their fun, campy and often-asinine humour is meant to be enjoyed in a sweaty setting once the alcohol starts to kick in. The Spits V is interchangeable to earlier efforts, pulsing an abundance of catchy hooks with a reliable bearing. But it’s not just a mindless head bop. This time around, there’s a strong emphasis in terms of the production quality – the fuzzy pop of My Mess and Electric Brain really pop out as they’re positioned right in front of the mix to kick you into a spastic frenzy.

Let’s face it: these are all linear-minded quick bursts, but there are sufficient hidden Easter eggs to keep things interesting. The echo-laden vocals of Fallout Beach give the warped surf motif an almost convincing reason to soak in the sun, while the strung out shredding in I’m Scum could pose as early Husker Du. And some of the tinny drum programming they’ve toyed with before is enticingly arranged - especially in album closer Last Man on Earth, which counts down as it’s about to take flight, thrusting full throttle as they harmoniously exchange vocal duties until reaching their blissfully chaotic final destination.

For a second, The Spits V gives the impression that they’re injecting some maturity into their no-frills, just thrills sound. But alas, a further read into their indistinct lyrics confirms this as business as usual. And that’s exactly why The Spits fill my occasional 20-minute diet – as you grow up, and life continues to take its unbridled turns, it’s always good to know that a visit to that dilapidated venue will always feature them as headliners, consistently creating their own make-up universe as my own just gets duller. And as long they continue to write a ripping banger like Acid Rain, the idea of growing older while they’re still just as young doesn’t sound like such a bad prospect.