The first time I heard Shit City was in my friend’s truck, appropriately, on a rusting tape deck- I remember feeling back in North Carolina, or the place of my birth; Louisville, Kentucky, sitting in a bar watching the house band play. Undoubtedly talented country musicians, doubling old numbers and getting the locals goin’ with otherwise weekend background noise to the usual bar hum, pool-shootin’, Bud-drinkin’, rough-neckin’ fun.
That’s why I’m pretty reluctant to review these Oslo throwback bands. I’ve got nothing wrong with bands who imitate genres well, and even better, those that create something with traditional genres — but I don’t know why bands even bother when it’s obvious there’s those who’ve done it better 30, 20, 10 years ago or hell, by bands still around. But I’ve caught Shit City member Morten’s newer band at Mono, and though they reminded me entirely of Creedence, I still thoroughly enjoyed it, not to mention other projects their members been involved with — Mormones, Cockroach Clan and more.
With much anticipation of this record then, and since the loss of Ingrid Olava on vocals, I have to say the overall packaging, production, songwriting and hype has just been one huge letdown. So rather than waste time deconstructing the (somewhat appalling) artwork, I think the real problem with this record is – too much shit is happening. From the first song, “Afterburner”, on I hear layer upon layer of percussion, fuzz, soloing, vocal lines competing for center stage… Melodies go askew because you have too many boys that perhaps play too well and imitate country motifs so much — that this would be just one of ten country bands on that famous barstrip in Nashville, certainly nothing new about it. Songs like “I Had a Friend”, “Tears All Over” and “Billy And Pilgrim” have simply cringe-worthy moments, verging on college-rock. If a song were to be salvaged, it’d probably be the title track (which for you iTunes geeks will show up as, “Shit City - Shit City - Shit City). Granted “Portuguese Harbor” seems to depart from the meager Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young attempt to a more altcountry in the vein of Wilco, but overall the record is so busy it loses soul, and begins sounding like slick modern country — the kind of country referred to when someone says, “I listen to everything except for…” well, this.
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