LIKE WOW
Burn, World, Burn (Psycho Teddy)
Reviewed by DJ Johnson

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I remember ingesting some scary drug or another in the early 80s and listening to Sparks. I was blown away. It was music from another dimension and it was alive and breathing on its own. When I was straight the next day, I still liked it -- and I remain a closet Sparks fan today -- but, sadly, that otherworldly element was the drug. Like Ringo Starr, I finally said no, no, no, no, I don't [snort/smoke/shoot/eat/drink] it no more, and the only thing I've missed about it is the way some music made me feel. Ever since, I've been looking for music that can do that for me without chemical assistance. This is why my yearly top five list regularly has items like Cruel Timothy, Victor DeLorenzo and Johnny Dowd. And this is now the longest set-up I've ever done before mentioning the CD I'm reviewing.

Seemed important to explain what it is I seek, what it is that drives me to co-produce audio shows like The Fog Machine, and what it is I love -- and I mean truly love -- about Like Wow.

This is the New York City band's third album. There's little debate that bassist/songwriter Thomas Truax's creations are twisted. It's a lifestyle choice for him, as he also does the stop-animation on MTV's Celebrity Death Match, and yet that warped world seems tame when compared to the places Truax describes in his music. Seemingly innocuous items breed and create frightening hybrids like "The Electric Beer Chair," where self-control is basically unattainable through the psychobilly-fueled haze. A pair of shoes in a thrift shop comes with an added bonus: the troubled ghost of the person who died in them. "The Haunted Thrift Shop (I'm Freakin' Out)" is alive with a spankin' funk beat and trebly 9th chords, all splish-splashin' in a bucket of reverb. Each song is worth spending time with, listening and re-listening as you sink into a musical landscape like no other. Once there, wide-eyed and vulnerable to whatever they throw at you, it becomes clear why they took the name Like Wow.

© 2000 - DJ Johnson