THE TOTEM IS STRONG
"The Fucking Eagles are the niftiest fake band of the half-moment. A mutantry of contentious quality that proffer the new old-timey, void of a coherent thrill line. Posing interlopers, hack-happy chancers. Self-aware maladroits ghost-smithing varied scraps and hooks yoinked from a dusty American R&R narrative to scratch out a shameless howl & dumb wholly steeped in barren third-world city sophisticrap affectations.
Starting as the unfunniest of jokes in 2005 in the arsenic drenched, barren landscapes and history-heavy bar back-rooms of industrial old town Tacoma, Warshington and imbibed on shared no-lifetimes of toxic smelter air and Rosalie ghost stories, the quattro seek to serve up all that smoky sweet raw-packed haunted-city ware in loud, can't danceable, junk soul form.
Never mind the caustic name and the faux-tough airs. Ragged good-timey frug & shug is the totem - cooing with the excellently bedheaded masses to unfold arms, unfurrow brows, get on the feets and fuck out loud right along with as they lame their place in rock'n'roll non-history. The soul-full-of-it and the soul-less, the doo wop and the doo wrong, Brill Building tenant discards, and all manner of clunky rhythm'n lose not-so-originals and shoulda-beens/sorta-weres from a mutant cadre of inspirators: Gino Washington, Kitty Love, Oblivians, The Syndicate, Bobby Long, Chuck Willis, Flat Duo Jets and more we won't implicate here - all now unwilling recipients of an expertless musical mistreatment and stuffed into the mercilessly contrived and ineptly fuckocted Fucklets' repeturd."