By Rebecca Bulnes
By Lee Zimmerman
By Rebecca Bulnes
By S. Pajot
By S. Pajot, Liz Tracy, Kat Bein, & Sean Levisman
By Kat Bein
By Ashley Rogers
In a certain way, TV Ghost is the sweet, playful jelly to the Spits' no-nonsense peanut butter. You could also say TV Ghost is the pugnacious, frenetic Scrappy-Doo to the Spits' more worldly, less frilly Scooby. But most aptly, we might draw a Ralph Malph-Fonzie comparison, if only to indulge the kind of inexhaustible pleasure that comes with likening nu-garage affiliates to original cool kid and renowned stuntman Arthur Fonzarelli. But however you choose to view these coheadliners taking the stage at Churchill's Pub this Friday, there's no doubt the pairing provides plenty of variety.
Seattle's Spits have been churning out solid chunks of sweaty-balls-style music since the dawn of the new millennium. In many ways, this band is a forerunner of the garage explosion of the '00s. And while radio rock was experiencing its last gasp (as exhaled by then-buzz-worthy, highly polished "garage" acts such as the Strokes and the White Stripes), the Spits were getting loaded, digging up rock 'n' roll's grave, and filling it with empty beer cans, hocked loogies, and old porn mags.
That's one major difference between the Spits and the round-edged garage scene — thorough vulgarity. The music is straightforward and fast. And the lyrics are righteously stupid. This crudeness is a big part of the reason the band likes to make a certain subtle distinction, calling its music garage punk rather than garage rock.
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On the flip side, Indiana's TV Ghost gets wiggly with noisy rock that uses a lo-fi bedroom pop template to rip through all sorts of bizarre, psychedelic (but still punk) ins and outs. Garage rock institution (and TV Ghost's record label) In the Red accurately describes the group as packing the punch of '70s art punk, the twang and gallop of the Cramps, and the background electronic scuzz-fuzz of Suicide.
Put simply, TV Ghost will give you something to giggle and wiggle over while the Spits bully you into rocking out.