So Vain

Congealing like leftover chicken grease from a dozen oily, unhinged bands - So Vain emerges fully formed and swaggering gelatinous. The boyish men combine every genre thievable from salsa to black metal and press it haphazardly through a fine mesh of poppunk/emo sensibility that will allegedly make them all fat and rich one day, and god we hope so. Talent like theirs deserves to be recognized, and I’m not just writing that as their mother (or someone in drag thereas), their raucous live shows with mannequins, papier-maché heads, fire skulls, and male nudity (you work with what you’re given) elevate them above your dime a dozen rock band to one worth several nickels per dozen, at the very least. Every show with it’s playfully debauched, prop heavy and highly physical assault marks another dive bar down, one more So Vain flag planted via dismembered mannequin or combusted, cumbasted pinata - Every song a tell all, totally incriminating manifesto at times both hyper literate and artisanally braindamaged merging the Y2K mallcore emo of the 2000's that we all grew up on with zesty additions of jazz, Latin, girly metal, gatekeeper metal, every permutation of punk, Madchester, indie rock, seductive sleaze and incomprehensible whimsy. And we’ll take anything that isn’t nailed down, we’ll attempt to nail it ourselves, and each song is our gift to you - an adhoc frankensteining of incompatible selves and places and times jerryrigged to perfection.