In sure punk circles, Twisted Teenagers have already made it. That’s partially on account of bandleader Caspian Honeywell’s time on the circuit within the defunct anarchist group Blackbird Raum, who jump-started the folk-punk motion nearly 20 years in the past. However primarily, it’s the results of the New Orleans duo’s distinctive stamp on the sound of underground punk: Honeywell, typically in a leather-based vest, howls with a pack-a-day voice over racing, lo-fi guitar, whereas RJ Santos, all the time sporting a dapper go well with and tie, performs pedal metal. It’s storage punk with an old-school nation twang; as their persona seeps via the sound like dye, it takes on the colour of music’s sepia-toned previous and technicolor current.
Twisted Teenagers’ stressed slacker method appears contradictory by definition till you recall the Andrew Savages of the world. The place Parquet Courts rode a proverbial bull via the crowded streets of New York Metropolis, Twisted Teenagers’ 2024 self-titled debut kicked up its naked toes on a Louisiana porch with an off-the-cuff wave for onlookers. On their follow-up, Blame the Clown, the band unleashes an excellent tighter batch of songs born from sheer charisma, simple hooks, and the no-bullshit storytelling that will get handed down between generations over eggs and grits.
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Every part about Twisted Teenagers’ musical demeanor is informal and unpretentious. They shoot from the hip when writing punk songs and play with the precision of an in-house nation band, all whereas sustaining the relaxed confidence of musicians who act like they’ve been right here earlier than. “Is It Actual?” opens Blame the Clown with the duo’s quintessential mix, pinning Honeywell’s storied rasp over the tinny solos of Santos’ nimble pedal metal. Standout “Circus Clown” takes off in a garage-punk dash, however Hollywell’s lasso of a bassline and Santos’ warped and reversed metallic yawn inflate the tune with helium till it soars away. The blown-out whammy bar slide on “Hurricane” verges on shoegaze, however then the pedal metal juts in to tether it again to Twisted Teenagers’ sound. No surprise Santos earned the nickname “Razor”: He whittles his traces into such clear factors that they depart a easy, shaved floor behind every tune.
Punk musicians have included cowboy stoicism and spaghetti Western guitar for many years, from the Gun Membership’s “Mom of Earth” in 1982 on to Teo Clever’s Fermo o Sparo! final yr. Twisted Teenagers make it their very own by stress-free into their ragged methods. Blame the Clown is coarse and infrequently blown-out, as if even the tape recorder they used to trace the album was recovered from an previous mine shaft. That scrappy garage-punk sheen lends credence to the band’s tales whereas it sneaks fiddle, piano, and synths into the background. On “Little Seed,” Hollywell proselytizes the vagabond way of life, proving no baggage is required for those who barter with a satchel of seeds: develop a carrot to feed a horse in alternate for a journey, or plant connections by providing lonely elders your hand in friendship. Shut your eyes and Twisted Teenagers seem with calloused fingers and soiled sweat smudges within the Louisiana humidity. It’s what made their acoustic cowl of “Sea of Love” rival Cat Energy’s model, or why you study Santos paints rusty saws by hand and suppose, “Oh yeah, that is sensible.” They only sound like guys who’re gonna throw down on clawhammer banjo in a fiddle jam session once they’re bored.
