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The Patsys

Saturday, August 28; Frederick's Music Lounge

Like most garage bands worth their grease, the Patsys dig their vintage gear and vintage yelps and yeahs, but they also attack songs like time-warped double A-sides -- two years together and they've only released singles -- or taunts to Neighborhood Watch to shut their shit down. With a Yardbirdsy guitar snarl and a hellacious drummer, this Columbus, Ohio, foursome cuts trashy go-go grooves with hooks too shiny for punk and too violent for power pop. They write prickly, flaunting kiss-offs, promising never to kill on the first date, brooding over a wedding band getting tighter with every itchy second and tallying betrayals like the devil's CPA. They rock like they want the world yesterday and they want a receipt, even if their sometimes vengeful, sometimes righteous threats mean they're bound to fuck it up further. "If I had a dollar I'd buy this town," bassist Tutti Jackson scoffs, "and spend every nickel just to burn it down." At the precise moment the garage Zeitgeist threatens to stiffen into a Nuggets diorama, the Patsys jar loose that tricky, electric thrill that is rock & roll's toughest secret -- play it like you're making it for the first time.

(left to right) Stewart Nicol, Tutti Jackson, John Stickey 
and Jeff Regensburger aren't suckers. But they 
are the Patsys.
(left to right) Stewart Nicol, Tutti Jackson, John Stickey and Jeff Regensburger aren't suckers. But they are the Patsys.

 
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