By Vito Nusret
LP: John Wilkes Booth Records/Bloated Kat Records
CD: S-P Records
Those old scars scratch open and bleed anew, dripping off your fingertips. The drained bottle follows suit shattering glass into a cymbal crash. That familiar pain feels ludicrous without the angst of youth, but you still handle it the same way: you drink, break bottles and listen to a gravely punk band mash their own hearts up between its teeth. Wash, lather, rinse, repeat.
But this one's different somehow. The band, just like the latest one who broke your heart, has its own hurts, hopes, highs, lows and identity but you hold them up to the crucible to be compared to all those who came before anyway. Who can resist? A turn of phrase or nervous gesture breathes new life into those long lost heartaches while simultaneously augmenting the acuity of your current dolor. Good thing there's those languid guitar outros because it's gonna be a long night. You turn up the volume and enjoy the well worn territory of gruff vocals, power chords, driving bass and frenetic drumming, each with the desperation of Ghost Stories and dissonance of Fuel for the Hate Game, but with a rawness that only a couple of years at the bottom of a bottle pouring out into the basement can yield.
Cynics could say that we went though all of this a over a decade ago; that we should learn from our past and move on. Just get over it, to put it succinctly. But getting over your crush is a whole lot easier when you have a record not unlike Like Bats' Midwest Nothing to scream along to; to pour your drink out and your heart into. It's at least a lot easier to carry around that way.
Stream Midwest Nothing: