| Well -- it’s not like I didn’t tell you at the outset that it was nearly impossible to explain what makes Lifter Puller so magnificent. It’s more than “They write the most teeth-grindingly realistic drug songs ever,” though there is that. It’s more important than “They do the indie-rock scripted rave-up trick better than anybody,” though there’s that, too. I think it’s this: that even in their first moves, as on this imperfect first album, they were committed to painting complex scenes with simple, chime-rhyming strokes. I’d tell you more, but what can I say? They are my favorite band and I can’t for the life of me imagine why the entire civilized world hasn’t rallied around them and proclaimed them the saviors of rock that they really were. Not the Strokes, though they’re O.K. Not the New Pornographers, though they’re great at times. Not the Jicks, though God bless ‘em. Lifter Puller. Damn it, you guys. Lifter Puller. |