My ears have a fondness for girls with guitars so the current crop of grrrl groups has been something akin to manna from heaven to me (and, as all likeminded gentlemen will also have done, I have already submitted a proposal of marriage to Frankie Rose). The Shrapnelles, however, do not hail from the breeding ground of Brooklyn but instead from Alberta in Canada and their take on grunging it up to the max is therefore just a bit different.
There's less of a homage to sixties girl group and Spector reverb for a start and more of a devil may care distortion means authenticity approach beloved of early punk bands. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there is even a 1-2-3-4 count in to the dubiously named "My Mom Is Hot" before those guitars start burning your eardrums. So far, so familiar but – and let's be honest you don't get long to notice it – there is an underlying cuteness to the harmonies that counterbalances the band's aggressive stance. More naughty than dirty, if you like.
"H.I.V." pretty much thrashes it to the max like the politically incorrect child of the Ramones that it is. I'm sure the lyrics have deeper meaning but this isn’t a philosophy lecture so we won't go into that especially since you would need psychic powers to work out what they were.
"Desert Furs", on the other hand, starts out all nice and pretty before the nitro boost accelerates those jabbing guitars way over the vocals with more than a hint of a visit to the beach for some surfing before it burns out begging for an immediate replay as it does so.
The Shrapnelles make you wonder why you can't turn your home hi-fi all the way up to 11.
The first 200 copies of this single are in a different, and somewhat weird, sleeve and are pressed on a translucent gold vinyl. The vinyl cut was by Lucky Mastering.