You can make me a Tofurkey sandwich wearing anything, or even nothing, but don't try and turn the act of making me lunch into some sort of vague, misplaced mish mash of everyday life and sexual politics.
Don't get me wrong, I'm a sucker for a gimmick. If your band wears costumes, does theme specific songs or has some implausible backstory then I'm halfway sold. If you've put your album out on 8-track or triple six inch vinyl then the money is almost yours, but in the end there has to be something else there.
There's the rub, the music is awful or at best standard. Dressing up, or in this case sexualising the ordinary doesn't make it extraordinary. This band are the extrapolated equivalent of drawing on your jeans in magic marker or sticking a Sonic Youth sticker on that car your parents gave you.
The real victims of the dot com bubble aren't displaced IT workers but those of us who have to endure the "zany" antics of San Franciscans with too much time on their hands.
