The Muffs
Blonder And Blonder

THE REVIEW

One of those things that would certainly happen in a parallel reality, where the world was set right, would be to see the Muffs gain the fame they deserve. But unfortunately - at least for now - we are confined to this old, monochromatic dimension, where smelly McDonalds sprout up in the historical centers of art cities, where villages of unsuspecting civilians are bombed to "bring peace," and other strange things happen.
Among them, the fact that almost no one gives a damn about the Muffs.

Why? Simply because they are intelligent, ironic, and difficult to label?
Perhaps, yet the fact remains that if you don’t know them or don’t love them, it doesn’t mean you lack intelligence, no, but you are surely missing out on one of those small-great pleasures of life that Philippe Delerm talked about in his "The First Sip Of Beer". The pleasure of stretching out in an armchair and being caressed by Kim Shattuck’s rough voice, with her eternal-adolescent pout, lulled by the quirky melodies of Just A Game and Funny Face, teased by the chants of Won’t Come Out To Play and I Need A Face, or alternatively, urged to pogo with the four-seasons wardrobe by the almost "acne-core" Agony and Oh Nina.
Listening to a Muffs album is always an intimate and pleasant experience, despite the music theoretically not being suitable for meditation... Imagine an album by Mr. T Experience or Green Day that gives you the effect of Suzanne Vega, and you’re close. Add to all this a delightfully '50s home-American iconography, evocative of mothers with perms intent on reading condensed novels from Reader’s Digest and children in shorts playing in the yard with wooden toy cars, and you have the Muffs.

I chose this album in particular, the second of their career and the first in the three-member formation, which survives to this day (after the expulsion of Kriss Krass and Melanie Vammen) because I find it the most representative, and the one that makes the least fuss about embracing the most disparate genres. In short, it takes courage to place a track like Ethyl My Love, angrily garage, with filthy guitars and filtered voice, next to a romantic adolescent reflection like I’m Confused.
From the first to the last song, the album is dominated by Kim Shattuck's voice, sometimes sweet and raw, sometimes furious, the sex-symbol of every respectable bespectacled university nerd, and her guitar with its irreparably vintage sound, supported by a grandiose rhythmic base both in imagination and technique. And after the thirteen gunshots, it ends with the sweet two minutes of Just A Game. You remain in your armchair, with emotions still in the air, almost feeling the urge to applaud.

The price the Muffs have always had to pay for their nonconformity has been modest public recognition, but on second thought, one is happier this way, not having to share them with too many people.
The motto of the University I had the (mis)fortune to attend said: "Who knows, knows, and who doesn’t know, to his detriment"!