Lick Lick

Lick Lick

High time a band crossed fealty for organ-fueled shades of Deep Purple with blinding flashes of Japanoize and tongue-tying blasts of lyrical absurdity. Welcome to the inaugural ground burst from Lick Lick, where art-damaged coliseum rock is repurposed into poison-tipped barbs aimed at the starchy underside of bloated egos and empire. Although songs like "Male Pattern Drunkassness" allude to the cheeky eccentricity you'd expect from local veterans of Les Saucy Pants, Brown Whörnet, and Middlefinger, Lick Lick never undermines the potency of their onslaught with too much wink-wink-nudge-nudge. Vocalist Mo Perce's droll, dystopic intonation recalls Algebra Suicide's Lydia Tomkiw, a jarringly effective juxtaposition with the band's explosive prog-punk pedigree. Midway, Lick Lick abandons sharp left turns for "The Imprecationist," a paranoid, vein-throbbing broadside against evil, though the band's overarching mission is best articulated by "Team Thong," the de facto theme/amphetamine sea chanty at album's end that jars your brain up jolly good.