Andrew Vincent and the Pirates

Andrew Vincent has made a series of lo-fi, intimate character-driven records for Ottawa-based Kelp Records, establishing an image for himself as a bearded, mesh truck hat wearing stoner who’d rather rock than work. Rock he does on this band album with the Pirates, in an early R&B, infancy of rock’n’roll kinda way. The cover proudly proclaims its status as "in high-fidelity mono” and that primitive philosophy extends to the music as well. Caveman beats and simple three-chord riffs mark this as not of our high-tech times. It’s all a mess of fun, except for the fact that Vincent’s lyrics — always a little simple and pseudo-autobiographical — are just too "on the nose” here. The obvious sentiment ("I get tired of seeing you walk down the street” or "if I had my druthers, we’d be under the covers”) will likely connect with inebriated club-goers during this month’s cross-country tour, but on record they don’t sustain interest like they should.