The inside liner photo pretty much says it all: two proles from the East Side hunkered down at night in what looks to be section of a wrecking yard, one a hard-ass lighting up a cig, the other a let's-get-shitfaced cat with one hand wrapped around a beer, both either taking a break from the graveyard shift at the tool and die plant or just getting the fuck away from the straights and business reptiles in the neighborhood, retreating lest they have to listen to one more overeducated idiot and be tempted to break a face, thus landing again on the wrong side of Officer O'Flaherty. The credits list these bad actors as 'Dickie Moist' (vocals) and 'Mickey Moist' (all instruments). Well, 'Dickie' is actually Guy Heller and 'Mickie' is Mickey Melchiondo. You might recognize that second sobriquet: Melchiondo was once in Ween.
The M-Boyz started out minimalist and electronically underwritten, with even drum machines f'chrissakes, then went to full-on rawk 'n roll, thence to metal-tinged hardcore, and now incarnates in a much more mainstream element, though nothing you'd hear on radio…unless maybe Jim Ladd might run 'em after some Faces, Ramones, and Stones. Mr. Melchiondo is a pretty impressive cat, considering he can handle guitar (lead and rhythm), bass, and drums simul-synched and make 'em all sound like a full for-reals group simultaneously all hunched over the board in the studio. And Dickie's gone from primal scream to a pretty convincing vocalist, a bit of Southern sneer, standard R&R, melodiousness, listen-to-this-and-fuck-you, and even a shade of Nazareth's in-your-faceness blended together for maximum mis-effect…heck, even some Les Claypool in Chickendick.
There's quite a bit of humor laced throughout this CD as well, along with bits of Ministry, Stooges, stoner rock, and straight-ahead, and when they get their social consciousness on, waxing somewhat serious, as in My Time to Die, it's pretty impressive. Too bad corporate shitholes run radio now, though, as more free-form formatted slots could readily accommodate this material in all its myriad manifestations. Instead, we get rap and rich white debutantes posing as porn chicklets. Lucky us. For an idea of what these cats are like, in this case with a full band and live, check out their Facebook page, scroll down, and click the video: https://www.facebook.com/moistboyz
Not fuckin' bad, eh? I'd walk over glass to catch 'em. 'Course, I'd have my led boots on and would be tossing the shards back up on the stage just for the antic effect on the band's composure. Mama din't raise no fools, even when they were headbangers.
Edited by: David N. Pyles
Copyright 2013, Peterborough Folk Music Society.
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