by David Wilikofsky
Rolling Stone recently set Twitter ablaze with their revised “best albums ever” list. I won’t bother rehashing all those very valid criticisms (nor discuss how laughable an idea ranking albums as the “best” may be), but if you can say one thing about the list is that it doesn’t take many risks. All the classic Western rock albums you’d expect are there, for better or worse; they’re not albums that I love or tend to revisit frequently. However, BBSitters Club, a new project from Hausu Mountain heads Doug Kaplan and Max Allison (along with Charlie Olvera and Paul Birhanu), is one classic rock album I can get behind. On the first rock record ever released by the label, BBSitters Club affectionately rib everything we’ve come to know as “classic rock”.
BBsitters Club’s debut album is classic rock as Adult Swim show. “Joel”, a song who’s main lyric is the titular phrase repeated again and again, is reprised twice in the name of rock excess. “Beef Pizza” is a dada fever dream, in which the band just shouts out names of food until the track turns carnivalesque and collapses into itself. Even the use of gratuitous wah wah pedal on multiple tracks is both hilarious and deeply appropriate, never outstaying its welcome. There are extended jams and over the top solos galore. It’s rock excess with a wink and a nudge.
Perhaps no track encapsulates this better than “Cutie Girl”. A blazing rocker, on the surface it’s a riff on the idea that guys form bands to meet women. In a surprisingly sweet turn, rather than objectifying women they sing “It doesn’t matter how you look or your size / The cutest thing is the space between your eyes“. In the end the fact that cutie girl isn’t 420 friendly is a dealbreaker, but not every love story can end happily. It’s the type of writing that reminds me of the best of someone like Warren Zevon (I won’t spoil anything but Zevon turns that song from lighthearted to fucked up in a split second), always zigging where you expect them to zag.
Sonically there are echoes of “the classics” here, from The Who to Neil Young to The Allman Brothers Band. There’s even a direct cop of a Cream riff on closer “Dracula”. I’m sure there are lots of other jokes and references that I missed, because that’s the kind of album this is. It’s satire, but also maybe not? It clearly comes from a place of appreciation, and everything lands because of that. It’s an incredibly fun listen, one that will bring a smile to your face any time you throw it on. As the world continues to spiral out of control, perhaps that’s the best gift they can give the world.