One of the many great things about music is its almost magical ability to lift you up out of wherever you are in life and transport you to a place, a time, or a mindset that isn’t your own. Melbourne trio Perfect Whip’s second full-length album, Jive Bullshit, performs this act of transportation – and it’s a much appreciated one. As soon as I hit “play,” it lifted me out of being a middle-aged guy dealing with a cold winter on the Northeast coast of the United States and sent me straight back into my 20s, enjoying the carefree warmth of the beach. They do this with a refreshingly simple garage-punk verve, tasty surf licks, and lyrics about youthful concerns like the awkwardness of dating (“Cheap Dates”) and looking good at the beach (“Beach Body”).
Singer/guitarist Albert Orr (at least I think it’s him – so hard to get info from digital releases) is a double-threat with a voice that recalls the detached early-21st century cool of Julian Casablancas or Courtney Taylor (comparisons to the latter come to the forefront on the very Dandy Warhols-ish “Tricked Ya”) with a few bits of Frank Black tossed in, and a fabulous “Ron Asheton goes to the beach” guitar tone that envelops their songs like a warm blanket. Is he using wah-wah? Fuzz? Flange? All of ’em? I’ll leave that for the pedal geeks to decide; I just know it sounds great. Further props must be given for “Half Sick” which successfully recasts “Teenage Kicks” as a 90s alt-rock depression anthem. It, like the rest of the album, is neither jive nor bullshit.
Midnight To Six 