Band : The Sick Lipstick
Album : Sting Sting Sting
Release Year : 2003
Genre : Noise / Indie / Art punk
Tracklist :
1. Go To Bed!
2. Thigh Master, I'm Yr Master
3. Sting Sting Sting
4. Pretend I'm Sleeping
5. 10-4 Can You Read Me?
6. Mommy's At The Grocery Store
7. Zombie Cookie
8. Knit Stitch / Crotch Itch
9. Come Get Yr Eggs
10. Get Up! Catch Up!
11. She's Got A Broken Femur
12 Cats Are Dangerous
Such a dirty mouth Ms. Lindsey Gillard has! Behind the head-splitting no-wave/art-punk cacophony of steady drum skin bruising and grating guitar noise, Gillard yelps humorously obscene childlike bathroom scrawling for the entire length of this 28 minute release. You wouldn’t know it from just listening, though- the lyrics are only intelligible when you hold the liner notes in front of your face. Santa Claus insemination, erogenous hair pulling, both fallen and pulled down pantaloons, tongue enforced retching- it’s all here and it’s all charmingly screeched like Sixteen Candles-era Molly Ringwald on helium injected ecstasy.
Part cancer paranoia, part coitus masochism, the standout second track “Thigh Master, I’m Yr Master” includes a tiny sprinkling of keyboard to give the otherwise discordant seizure number some harmony. “Pretend I’m Sleeping,” with its off-color comatose sex subject matter would sound offensive if it weren’t for Gillard’s pig-tails and mini-skirt delivery--making lines such as “No I didn’t want to scrape it out / When your sperm crashed through” sound almost cute--like infants cussing. Sting Sting Sting is, if nothing else, a fun little record to use to frighten conservative music listeners.
Like a frighteningly straight God is My Co-Pilot, The Sick Lipstick won’t find themselves being spun ‘n scanned in my player very often due to my limited tolerance, and I believe many others’ (which sadly makes the style a bit novelty, mix-tape fodder, or both) for the new-no-wave genre in heavy doses. The juxtaposition of Gillard’s explicitly raunchy howling with her childlike voice give Sting Sting Sting a hole-in-the-wall-looking-into-the-dirty-Catholic-schoolgirl-dressing-room feel. Besides, when was the last time you heard anyone beyond early grade school scream “I’ve got mud on my pants! Mud on my pants!”? Probably no one—until you get to track two.
GET IT!
Part cancer paranoia, part coitus masochism, the standout second track “Thigh Master, I’m Yr Master” includes a tiny sprinkling of keyboard to give the otherwise discordant seizure number some harmony. “Pretend I’m Sleeping,” with its off-color comatose sex subject matter would sound offensive if it weren’t for Gillard’s pig-tails and mini-skirt delivery--making lines such as “No I didn’t want to scrape it out / When your sperm crashed through” sound almost cute--like infants cussing. Sting Sting Sting is, if nothing else, a fun little record to use to frighten conservative music listeners.
Like a frighteningly straight God is My Co-Pilot, The Sick Lipstick won’t find themselves being spun ‘n scanned in my player very often due to my limited tolerance, and I believe many others’ (which sadly makes the style a bit novelty, mix-tape fodder, or both) for the new-no-wave genre in heavy doses. The juxtaposition of Gillard’s explicitly raunchy howling with her childlike voice give Sting Sting Sting a hole-in-the-wall-looking-into-the-dirty-Catholic-schoolgirl-dressing-room feel. Besides, when was the last time you heard anyone beyond early grade school scream “I’ve got mud on my pants! Mud on my pants!”? Probably no one—until you get to track two.
GET IT!
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