Hammer No More The Fingers : Hammer No More The Fingers
Despite having one mouthful of a friggin’ name, Hammer No More The Fingers are rather simple and innocent. They need not clamor their instruments more than they require. They need not bombard the listener with more awesome power than they see fit. They wave such excess off for the barest of structures, the poppiest of pop and the quirkiest of indie-cum-punk-cum-funk-cum-whatever else they jam within their pubic hair-sparse chords.
All in all, HNMTF are a swell bunch of dudes. They are perverse, tender-hearted, drugged-out, bemused, befuddled and sharp the whole way through. Adventurous, too, I suppose considering they started their 24 minute album out with a song called “O.R.G.Y.” which is exactly what you’d think it’d be about. Duncan Webster croons in that recognizable post-Ben Folds white boy way to the wordy, witty lyrics about shrooms, fucking in dens, concrete, among other things that are both amusing and relatable.
In general, Hammer No More The Fingers’ self-titled debut is a fun listen. It recalls a time when being a slacker was endearing and clever and not unpatriotic and pathetic. HNMTF play with a well-practiced oblivion. They’re not selfish, but the world could be—and quite possibly is—crumbling around them and they’d hardly take the time to notice. They’ve found satisfaction right where they want it and are content to keep it that way until dust becomes them. It’s all very hypnotic. It’s a challenge for me to determine as to where they will go from here. If they have ambition they’re quite good at separating it from their art, which, in this case, is a strength. Sure, they’ll add layers to their sound, and why not? In the garage/basement/public storage unit, there’s nowhere to go but down. And we can be happy that these three will go down pleased as punch and well fucking rehearsed, which is all I can ask of those with solid tunes and bizarre ways.
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