CD Review – Songs In The Key Of A.D.D

Uncategorized | June 23rd, 2013

Album: Songs In The Key Of A.D.D.
Artist: Mr Plow

What I love most about Mr Plow is his straight up “don’t give a fuck” attitude, which is-to me-what punk rock is all about. His is the voice of an angel…ya know that one angel behind the triple X arcade that’s been smoking 30 packs of cigarettes a day for the last 20 years in between all the 5 dollar blow jobs and handies she was dishing out as the fellers left the arcade. When she speaks, the experience shines through and you no longer care how big a package she might be carrying under her skirt. You cough up that 5 bucks and let her work her magic…wait what was I talking about? Fuck, now I’m horny and fresh out of quarters…

Anywho, Plow has a raspy voice that matches his “whatever” attitude and he dishes out every song over simple guitar riffs that all the chart topping pop punk bands have been raking in on for years. He’s also been around since the dawn of the first chord.

I’ve been a fan of Plow for years since I made a complete ass out of myself the first time I saw him at a bar in Tacoma, WA, almost 10 years ago. He won me over instantly with songs about donkeys and pissing on girls, bitching about how border patrol wouldn’t let him bring the kegs of beer he was sponsored by into the U.S., and his charming wit. Yes, Plow is funny, that is if you aren’t an uptight asshole. If you’re drunk, than he is fucking hilarious.

I love his music, so when he shot off a Facebook post asking if anyone wanted to review his new album, Songs In The Key OF A.D.D., I jumped at the opportunity.

The first song I listened to was called 3 Chords, which I loved immediately. It says everything I’ve been thinking about all the elitist douche bags within’ the music industry-especially the punker than thou asshats-that think they’re so fuckin’ special because they can read the directions on the back of a manic panic bottle, or that having any kind of following makes them king or queen shit.

I got the album with the tracks in alphabetical order about mid tour a month or so ago, and it sucks that I’m only now finally getting back to the rest of this long-winded review-which is, oddly enough, at the start of another tour.

Since I’ve been on the road a bunch here recently, the next song I listened to was called Tour, a straight forward song (not that anything about Plow’s music is really beat-around-the-bush or reading-between-the-lines kind of material) about the bullshit that comes with being a touring musician. It’s simple, but it makes me bob my head and smile, as every line is something I can relate to, including recent events.

15 Minutes of Shame is Plow’s response to the current string of garbage we’ve all been exposed to if you’ve been anywhere near a t.v. in the last year or so. Nothing but disgust between Honey-Boo-Boo, Jersey Shore and whatever else is considered prime time television these days. I haven’t had cable or basic channels in over 10 years, and it’s disgusting that I even know what he’s talking about. Truth is, he probably could’ve wrote this song based off what he heard instead of channel flipping, and I think the result would’ve been the same. Plow pretty much hates anything that’s stupid and appeals to stupid people unless its cheeseburgers, and I think this album really reflects his general apathy towards the human race as a generic whole. I guess that’s not much different from previous albums.

Plow’s music is his outlet to tell you like it is in the simplest, stripped down, most blatant way possible. He doesn’t really give a fuck if you like it or not, which is really made clear in his song, Fuck Yo Face…wait no…that’s about literally fucking your face, earholes and all…maybe it was in the song Your Face My Ass…or maybe I’m just randomly picking songs to listen to as I type up this review…

Go see a show, buy a fucking album. It is offensive, it is funny, and if you’re drunk you won’t just laugh, you’ll laugh your ass off as your poop filled intestines are spilling out onto the floor.

This album is solid brown gold, just like every album Mr Plow has ever put out. So go buy it, sit down with a big plate of all the food you love that’s bad for you and enjoy shitty 3 chord riffs sung as only Plow can. Even the love song, My Sweet Satan is pretty bad ass. It’s no Let’s Get Fat Together, one of my favorites of his off a previous album, but still worth the listen.

Thanks for the album Plow, keep writing music because it’s going to be a sad, sad day if you ever stop. I think the production value of this album is the best so far. Good job. This gets 5 out of 5 sweaty, fiery jalapeños from my scratchy ass.


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