Lace Curtains - A Signed Piece of Paper

Adult oriented rock is an unforgiving tag, so do I employ it here? The landscape was once more familiar, such as when your latest squeeze poured you a shot of cheap vodka and threw on Rumours, and soon you knew you’d be singing along to 'Silver Springs' in emasculated chorus, assuredly draining every last bit of sex appeal out of the situation. Guilty pleasures are best secreted behind enemy lines.

Lace Curtains provide a confusing template. No sooner have you pegged them as inoffensive tunesmiths beholden to the legacy of Fleetwood Mac, Go-Betweens, Broken Social Scene blah blah, that they go and change the game-plan with some Afro-Anglo, Tuareg inspired nonsense, or white acid-jazz-funk a la Brand New Heavies, or New Pornographers-style feel-good indie, and then they spring 'Saint Vitous' on you, a screaming transmission of crunching new wave punk-rock that is so fucking good, you want to cut the record into pieces and preserve the bit with that song, for moments when you actually are sleeping with the enemy.

For people confused with their sexual identity, or something.