Veruca Salt, American Thighs— ***1/2 (of 4)

Not only are Veruca Salt the cutest rock band to come along since The

Pixies, but the musical influences they list in their bio bely a promising

amount of pop street credibility. Any group who can cite AC/DC, Liz Phair

and Prince as primary inspirations is a group which has listened carefully

enough to American pop to make something out of it. When bassist Steve Lack

claims that his first album was Kiss’ Destroyer, I know that I am

not alone anymore.

Comparisons to The Breeders, who are rock-and-roll cute in their own right,

are inevitable: guitar-oriented rock played by two near-twin

singer/guitarists backed up by a couple of guys who keep their mouths shut.

This similarity, I hate to say, is all that keeps this CD from being a

four-star pick. Still, Veruca Salt should have plenty of directions of

their own to go. Assertive, no-nonsense women playing rock music is the

wave of the future.

“All Hail Me,” the second track, with wailing background vocals and

crunch-thick guitars, would seem like a better song than “Get Back” to have

opened the album with. Then comes the single, “Seether.” From the opening

squeal to the final ring of power chords, it rocks. The chorus hooks get

lodged in the listener’s conscious. It’s the sort of song that inspires me

to drive too fast.

“Number One Blind” is the first song I’ve ever heard about Levellor blinds.

Who knew window shades could be poignant? It’s followed by another

“Seether”-esqe rocker called “Victrola.” Other songs, like “Twinstar” and

“Sleeping Where I Want” show off delicate low-key sensibilities to Veruca

Salt. “25” is their bona fide rock epic, clocking in at 7 minutes and 58

seconds long. Overall, American Thighs is a strong debut from a band

that seems to have a thing or two up its sleeve.

Ass Ponys, Electric Rock Music— **

It’s funny that just five or six years ago no radio DJ would say the

Butthole Surfers’ name on the air. They would say “B-hole Surfers” or “B.H.

Surfers.” Now we are offered a band called the Ass Ponys without so much as

a blink of an eye. It can only be a sign of better things to come.

The music of the Ass Ponys isn’t the kind that immediately grabs the

listener and holds him in thrall, but it’s straightforward and friendly and

just what the album title suggests. This deceptive simplicity carries the

band’s lyrics well. At worst (the song “Gypped”), the tunes are so-so. At

best (the first single “Little Bastard”), they wield darned catchy pop

hooks.

Most of their songs are humorous short stories. The aforementioned “Little

Bastard” is about a kid who gets no respect. Even his Grandma calls him

names, but he wants to be called Snake. It’s adorable. The Ass Ponys seem

to have a “thing” about grandmothers. The song “Earth to Grandma” discusses

the wide variety of found-object arts and crafts made by their archetypal

“Grandma.” It’s almost thought-provoking.

Ass Ponys show fairly strong songwriting, even if it leans to the

sophmorish side. Still, I don’t see longevity in their future.