Nerves are Fried b/w Summer
What fantastic noisy mess of gangly and eager suburban youth: Nerves are Fried is a frenzied punch-up of mad tub-pounding and a descending guitar riff that doesnt ever stop descending; it only interrupts itself for the occasional off-time note bend or pick slide. The monochromatic lead vocal (see mouth noises) reveals a whack and staccato that wouldve given a young Richard Hell wood. A grind of the mean reds, er, the blanket bleakness of bored days in heat colors the B-side, Summer, an appropriately crooked surf ditty cooked with guitar feedback, No Wave nods, and nearly indecipherable lyrics that are as unsettling as some merciless and doomed neighborhood kid who plucks wings off mayflies. This 45 is melodic in spite of itself, so its no surprise that Matt Smith and Timmy Vulgar are yakking blue streaks about these Royal Oak teens. Great stuff. Go to X-recordings.com or see the band live.