Hey it's Friday so let's loosen our knickers and pause to appreciate Jawbox, authors of 1996's best melody record. Every year it seems that from left field comes some unforgettable hookfest. In 1999, it was the Brenden O'Brien-produced Dangerman record (who?) and post-Elastica also-rans Kenickie's 1997 debut is solid gold. But arguably the most surprising is Jawbox's self-titled final record, being as it is a hyper-catchy summer day record when their previous outing, whose anniversary has prompted a reissue and a one-off reunion performance on TV, was an acclaimed but unlistenably contrived hipster record from hell. I hated that shit and now must admit that it precipitated the end of a couple of my few friendships. I spared the too-cool chick from two towns over cuz her knockers were dynamite. Plus she probably had to like it or the hipster council might've revoked her membership.

Anyway, Jawbox (the record) is muscular and confident like that last Refused record, whatsitcalled The Come of Shapely Punks? And, again, the melodies are terrific and impactful enough to cancel out some unconscionable over-drumming. Also, like NoMeansNo, the band's dual vocals come off as super confrontational, although J Robbins is more derisive via metaphor than daffy or menacing like those weirdos. And you gotta respect Robbins for doing almost nothing to veil his distaste for me both during a telephone interview and in face-to-face conversation. But when hipster types dislike me it's one of those good problems. Burton C. Bell made me cry though. I'm just joking. I'd never interview Burton C. Bell. Oh shit wait no I have interviewed him, back when Obsolete came out. Um I'll just see myself out.

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