Penny’s Pet Dragonfly/Hair of the Dog

Penny’s Pet Dragonfly

In a Frail Daydream

Orange Peal

Hair of the Dog

Hair of the Dog


Don’t mind me, I’m just burying rock and roll here. No, I promise, I really do FEEL sorry for all of the idealistic young artists out there, picking up their brand new guitars and attempting to emulate (a bit too closely) their rockin’ icons. Maybe in time, they’ll grow fully into their own aesthetic. Maybe in time, they’ll be the next Suicide or John Cale (high compliments, baby)! But for now, it’s time for the learning tree boys, because these records just don’t cut it at all. Who were you trying to fool?

Penny’s Pet Dragonfly are only slightly more tolerable than Hair of the Dog. I imagine them about six years ago, where their video gets played once on 120 Minutes — you know, one of those boring episodes where James Iha was hosting. James Iha, why did I bring him up? Well, it could be because their turgid pseudo-alternative guitar music brings to mind the worst parts of bands like the Smashing Pumpkins and Catherine Wheel. I’m bored. I’m sure there’s an audience for this stuff somewhere, chortle. Big guitar. Big soaring vocal bits. Quiet bit. Soaring chorus. Repeat. Yawn.

There’s a lot of crap I’ll put up with in the name of metal. I’ve turned a blind eye towards rampant sexism, fascist leanings, cartoonish Satanism — God damn, I even went to see Sebastian Bach act like a particularly embarrassing uncle trying to be “hep” at a frat bar on Easter weekend — but with Hair of the Dog, I have to put my foot down. One would hope that when a band appropriates the name of a CLASSIC Tankard album for their collective moniker, they’d be somewhat conscientious of the product they turn out under such a history-rich appellation.

No such fucking luck. Hair of the Dog is ultra-shitty (to the max) pseudo-Metal, reminding me of Jackyl crossed with the Killer Dwarves, and then the guitars are tuned down just a tad to appeal to the kidz. Off with their heads! Everything is warmed-over and uninspiring, and then they have those damn party lyrics that try to appeal to all the “ordinary joes” without any of the danger or perversity of a GNR or Faster Pussycat. Don’t bother locking up your daughters.

Orange Peal Records, PO Box 15207, Fremont, CA 94539; Spitfire Records,

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