Reviews

Everybody loved this record. For real; it was kind of a weird phenomenon. I've been toting it around for awhile and it seems to impress wherever it goes. My musically inclined father ripped it from me; as did my musically oblivious mother; my thick-rimmed-glasses-wearing indie rock all-star friend literally stole the album from me; and both my Green Day-loving sister and Radiohead-worshipping best friend requested emailed copies. I knew it was good, but I didn't know this little Chicago band was going to stir up quite so much attention.

Don't Crochet on My Parade is outright lovable. The band's name, not so much. Nobody could remember it and if they did, they got it wrong. But I won't go into it, as they've already won multiple honors for their worst-band-name-ever. I'm just going to call them Rats to Survive for now.

Most directly, Rats to Survive reminds me of another band with a rodent namesake, Modest Mouse. The comparison is obvious. Rob's vocals ride the off-kilter, warbling lines of Isaac Brock, rambling between weird and inspired. So although the similarities are unavoidable, Rats to Survive brings enough originality and quality to their album to allow them to emerge from the shadows of the Mouse.

"Tearing Frank Apart" starts off as a bouncy tune featuring whistles and light acoustic guitar, plumbing bass and some scattered taps. Then, out of nowhere, a fleeting electric guitar appears and the song changes entirely. This could be completely horrible, changing the song midway. But it wasn't at all. Instead it was awesome. And this is why Rats is awesome. They make this work. Plus they make the banjo cool.