THE OBSERVERS
lead pill 7" repress
(DY64)

MP3

"lead pill"

AVAILABILITY: In Press

PRESSING INFO

900 black vinyl
100 grey swirl vinyl
70 grey swirl w/ ltd covers
30 pink vinyl w/ ltd covers

REVIEWS

Razorcake Issue #21
"Eighties-tinged punk rock with smart lyrics and some well-placed cynicism. The line 'So I sold my soul just to save some face in front of the fashion police/Life is so much better now that I've found beige' from 'Normally Normal' was brilliant."

Discorder Magazine (Vancouver, BC) - August 2004
"Our last serving of seven inch comes from some troublemakers from Portland, Oregon known as The Observers. Four Tracks of SoCal-influenced punk rock -- at least the production makes it feel that way -- like listening to Channel 3 or T.S.O.L. back in the day, with lyrics dealing with fitting in, not fitting in and the like on tracks such as 'Lead Pill' and 'Can't Be Sad'. I liked the drum solo in 'Short Day', that's punk rock. Man, Portland can do no wrong these days, with so many good bands to choose from, add The Observers to that list."

Now Wave Magazine - April 2004
"If you're bummed beyond consolation because you're 26 and your mom said you should move out or at least get a job, and your little brother's super-hot friend Katie caught you boppin' your baloney to the new Britney video, and you've pissed all over the kitchen floor three times since last week, and that girl you've wanted since 10th grade just married a smarmy Republican banker named Stu, and your dad locked the medicine cabinet so you can't have at his OxyContin stash anymore, and you can't afford to fix your broke-down piece-of-shit car that you wrecked six months ago en route to Pappy's House of Porn, and some ballcap wearing asswipe stole your Sex Pistols discs out of your cousin's van, and that big-ass bottle of JD last night did nothing but give you the mother of all hangovers, then what you really need is some old-fashioned punk rock. Here it is brother: ultra-strength sonic catharsis in the form of The Observers' terrific debut release. Invite over all your unbalanced anti-social pals, crank the turntable volume knob, and plot your revenge against society!

This record rocks because it's totally unlike the typical revived "old school punk" you hear all the time these days from bands that sound more like groveling tribute acts than actual relevant purveyors of the digable Now Groove. It's refreshing in the same way that the unexpected presence of your fun-loving ex-con uncle would be at a usually dull family gathering. It's punk all right, but punk with a jazzy, slightly fucked-up twist. No wannabe Clash action or third-rate Dead Boys homage here. Just when a song starts to sound predictable, it bursts into mini freakout mode, briefly falling into free form chaos a la the Stooges. These dudes manage to make the familiar miscreant boogie style sound as "original" as it can possibly get. It's noisy & amateurish in a good way (note the cruddy, tinny, bargain basement production, which somehow befits these four songs), and it's melodic without being "poppy". Lotsa bounce and spunk prevail. The monotone-ish speak-sing vocals, rippin' staccato bass lines, and tuneful shout-along punk style give this record a certain, uh, early 80s vibe. If I were held at gunpoint and forced to draw a comparison, I'd say this reminds me of early Youth Brigade...or maybe The Bodies if you need a contemporary point of reference. But even those comparisons aren't quite fair, for The Observers have taken the old blueprint and "made it their own" (Rockwriter cliche #17 strikes again; bring me another Black Russian pronto!). And they've written some cool songs to boot! The almost-anthemic title track is sure to make it on lots of punk rockers' "best of 2004" mixed CDs, and the other three numbers are first rate as well. Top-notch four-song EPs are a rarity in this age of the filler-laden 20-song CD-R.

Now is where I'm supposed to say, "Great debut EP...I can't wait for the full-length!" But every time I say that, the LP in question ends up disappointing me. So let's leave the expectation-raising hyperbole to the professionals...and just enjoy one hell of a 7"!" (Lester Dostoyevsky)