The Punks

Behind the titular smirk and sarcastic band name, you won’t find derisive piss takes on the genres so evoked. Rather, on this album, Kill Rock Stars founder Slim Moon and his collective of collaborators tinker away at the intersection of Avant Garde Avenue and New Weird America Boulevard. Generator hum rumbles under listless violin-bow-dragging and feedback in a near-drone nirvana. Staccato drums gallop though a gaggle of tape-manipulated mewls as a molasses-slow voice repeats These people have redefined the word “young. “ A girl fumbles her way through an awkward phone conversation in Spanish as bells ring, tambourines shake, and whistles sound in a shaggy, fun-house miasma. A novice drummer keeps time using a kit and what sounds like a glass jar full of metal bolts. Though Thank You is somewhat engaging, it’s ultimately unclear whether the Punks are snickering at underground music’s newest pollutions or just chiming in.