The Coathangers are a new quartet from Atlanta that play more than slightly-snotty post-punk music that is just as likely to mix in old school synth barrages as they are guitar attacks. Their music calls to mind groups like the Slits and Le Tigre as they rip through seventeen tracks in just over a half-hour. Song titles and lyrics are about as straightforward as they come, with songs that feature plenty of arm-pumping shout-outs, hand-claps, and throat-rasping yells.
A good portion of the album sounds like its held together with bailing wire and twine, but that's part of the fun. "Tonya Harding," "Wreckless Boy," and "Haterade" kick off the album with a trio of keyboard-laced dance punk tracks spiked with whoo-whoo background vocals, occasionally shredding guitars, and rhythm sections that seem slightly out-of-step at times. "Shut The Fuck Up" offsets bone-dry guitars and pounding drums with chirpy organ sounds and lyrics that are about as deep as you'd expect from a song titled such. "Don't Touch My Shit" is even more hilarious, likely becoming the scream-along anthem of the year for young office-working folks as a phone ring-tone is turned into a relentless background flutter while a thudding rhythm section is matched up with relentless screams of the title and other lines of random workplace violence.
Showing off their truly strange sense of humor, the group pairs up the playful party track "Nestle In My Boobies" with the downright restrained "Bloody Shirt," which is actually more subtle than the title suggests. As with the previous two tracks, it seems like there's little rhyme or reason with how much of the album progresses, but it's moves with such a gleeful energy most of the time that it's able to move past some of the more kludgy moments. That said, it's both rough as hell, hilarious at times too. It's probably the sort of thing that's a lot better live with a couple beers in the belly, but if you like the groups mentioned above, The Coathangers might hit you in the right spot.