Both tangibly diverse and decidedly unique, the debut album from The Dirty Little Bettys reminds me of a drunken afternoon at the state fair during which my heart was broken and I found out David Bowie was my father. When it comes to lyrics, Clinton Avery Tharp has zero fear of using themes that border on the bizarre to impart complex emotional paradigms that can tear at your heartstrings for no other reason than the fact that they tear at his own. Sam “Banjo” Hochenaur’s harmonies are light, airy, and spot on. The chemistry between he and Tharp ties the individual songs into a cohesive album that you don’t want to eject or unplug. The culmination is a musical journey through Tharp’s subconscious that you’ll want to ride again and again and again. Sheer fucking genius.
The Damn Quails