Sample this concert
  1. 1Welcome to Daytrotter00:06
  2. 2Crimes03:42
  3. 3Untitled02:51
  4. 4Do The CPR02:20
  5. 5Germanic Panic01:51
Friendo Nov 5, 2011
Liner Notes

There's no reason for it and even thinking these things makes me feel as if I should be sentenced to do community service and fined a few hundred bucks. It's something like if you have a dream about making love to another women during the night, you wake up the next morning and sense that you owe your wife an apology or you very gingerly go about the house that morning, waiting for the dirty and deceitful feeling to go away. When you listen to a Friendo song there's something that gets into you that makes you want to drive around without a seatbelt on, no matter what the law tells you to do. It makes you want to build a good sized couple of ramps out in the middle of a slow residential street, put a few beat-up automobiles between those ramps and take a motorcycle skying over them, likely to unheard of glory. It makes you want to be in that car without a seat belt or riding recklessly on that motorcycle (of course, without a helmet on) and doing what they used to do with any trash that found its way into the car or on a person - throw it out the window and into the ditch. Someone would come by and pick it up. There was no need to worry about a thing. Those were the good old days when so many more things were tolerated. You could smoke in airplanes and in hospitals and going braless was super approved. You could just do pretty much whatever the fuck you wanted, within reason. Friendo tends to remind us of acting wantonly, or just in a less prescribed way than we're used to most of the time. The songs that Michael Wallace, drummer for Women, writes for the band are filled with exposed feelings and needs and they come out slightly grimy and frayed, as if they're being thought for the first time, without getting a good cleaning up yet. They are as they were cooked and they feel as if they are supposed to be interpretable in any way we'd like to interpret them. They feel as if they've been spit upon and been left outside, in the yard for weeks and weeks, finally discovered, gaunt and of little voice. They've never lost the color in their faces though and they're spirited. They'll bark and they'll hiss like newborn kittens - on instinct and liberally. It's sometimes speedy garage rock that probably prefers the weekends and staying up way later than they should. Friendo makes us feel like we either have some hornets humming around in our hearts, some untold and shameful things that we'd rather keep in there with the sons of bitches, or we're about to go out and get some. We're strongly considering it. We think that we might like it. We'd like to wake up in the morning with tattoos we don't remember paying for and a hoarse throat that will last all the way to the next midnight we see.