It’s a horrible thing to think about, but 311, even in their flash-in-the-pan flirtation with fame, managed to actually influence some of today’s up-and-coming bands. Normally I can spot the hemp necklaces and heavily medicated stares of their acolytes from miles away, but Plastic Constellations slipped under my ska-hippie concertina wire by namedropping excellent indie rock bands like Pavement and Dismemberment Plan. They’ve even opened for Low, for God’s sake!
Yeah, Plastic Constellations’ riffing is much more muscular than the average post-reggae (shudder) outfit’s bristly soul patch, but when I hear dual white boy “baby, please come back” raps and sub-Barenaked Ladies (is that possible?) ironic self-aggrandizement, my brain huddles shivering inside my skull, lobes crossed that the zany Minnesotan frat-rock will go away. It does, but 38 minutes too slowly.