This album is, in the very best way, like a perfect pair of toenail clippers.
That is: it's something you don't use all the time, but every so often you realize, "It's been too long, I need something..." and it occurs to you that only one thing will do the job. Either toenail clippers, or "The Violent Femmes."
It shouldn't work. The instruments are simple and spare and loosey-goosey. Gano's voice is weird and the lyrics tend to be whiny and self-pitying. And yet the whole thing stands up as a remarkably fun, wonderful little album.
Aside from the music, one of the best things about "The Violent Femmes" is its bizarre, broad appeal. It always gets a smile when played at a party and beyond all reason it gets people of all shapes and sizes singing along. When I was in high school and college, all the cool freaky girls liked this record. As well as some of the regular girls who were really freaky girls pretending to be regular, even back in the day when Bon Jovi and Poison supplied pep rally soundtrack.
But that was a long time ago, and it seems like people are still picking up on it. It's a nice thought that one of the sonic staples of my teen angst period is now being picked up by kids who've heard Beck and The White Stripes first.
