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xmag.com : September 2006 : All-American Playboys


So I’m listening to The College Years in its entirety for the third time, all smog in the noggin’, and I decide perhaps the All-American Playboys are just too much for one girl to handle. Their Elvis-like vocals overwhelm me, and that saxophone, well that saxophone makes me damp down in my oboe. What could I do? Nothing but call upon some hot dollies with classy chassis. I give my right and left arms a ring, Lilly McSparkles and Mistress D’Arci DeLeche. I knew together, with the power of femmethree, we could reveal the masquerade behind The College Years. Within minutes, we’re drinking martinis and eating artichokes, listening to the All-American Playboys’ first full-length album on the record player.

Lilly, she’s staring at an artichoke petal and she’s like, “I don’t know like what if this album is kind of like an artichoke, you know, like, thorny on the outside but its heart is all like soft and tasty. It would, like, taste good with mayonnaise and butter, too.” I look at Mistress D and roll my eyes. Lilly, she’s always comparing music to food. Mistress D, she’s eyeing her martini looking all frosted. “Well, to me they’re like a martini with too much vermouth. And we all know the best martini is made with a conservative splash of vermouth.” Oh, Mistress D. She’s always comparing music to alcohol.
So here’s some background, girls. The All-American Playboys are from Mulkilteo. “Mulkilteo?!” exclaims Mistress D. “What’s wrong with Mulkilteo?” asks Lilly. Chachee Morockin’ he’s on bass and Elvis-like lead vocals. Dean Martini, he’s on guitar and backing vocals. There’s Phillip McKreviss—he’s also on guitar and backing vocals. Brody, he’s the saxophone player and he does some back-up vocals, too. And Mr. Vermouth, he’s on drums and backing vocals. “They all, like, sing?” asks Lilly. They all sing.
Think, girls, what are they trying to say with this CD? What’s it all about? Girls, girls, girls with big titties, alcohol, cars, and the occasional boy fight. “Those are my kinda guys,” Lilly says. They say they sound like Elvis, the Sonics, and ’N Sync in a blender. “That’s putting it lightly,” Mistress D snorts. “I’ve always wanted a man like Elvis,” Lilly says. What about this song? “Homicide in a Double-Wide.” Some girl, she kills a jerky guy with a mullet. Who doesn’t have that sort of dream? Not me, I’ve always wanted to kill a guy with a mullet. That’s what’s so great about these guys— they string that chord, the chord that every girl needs strung. The chord that makes you wanna kill, makes you wanna screw. The rock ’n’ roll chord.
So I’m thinking hard now. The College Years is filled with rolling drums, ridiculous bass lines, saxophone solos that set it apart from the average good-time tunes of our day, and wails from Chachee Morockin’ that raise your temperature. It’s good cruisin’ music. Hepcats may crank it up on their way to beat up some straights; and those straights, they’re gonna look kinda funny eating corn on the cob with no fuckin’ teeth. Lassies, they may swing their hips or enjoy some drunken backseat bingo while listening to this album. Overall, it’s really enjoyable for both the hepcats and the lassies. “Foreign Girls” is a song that especially strums my chord. These guys, they’re the committed type. “Not my type,” Mistress D chimes. “I don’t know, like, if Elvis came up to me and was like, ‘Hey, doll, you’re mine and no girl has anything on you,’ I’d be like, ‘Oh, Elvis you’re such a hunk,” Lilly woos, batting her eyelashes. It’s the kind of song that makes any dame smile inside. Makes you wanna cook a nice dinner for your man. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we’re listening to “Whole Lotta Hog” when I realize something very important. “I don’t know about you girls, but this song, like, razzes my berries,” says Lilly. Maybe the cubes won’t like the All-American Playboys, but after a few martinis, these guys stir something up deep inside. Something most Seattle bands these days miss. Nostalgia of a time in our history—a time which has the allure of a simple life, of looking good, screwing, and driving fast. “That’s heavy, Elektra,” Mistress D says. “Like totally hits the eye,” Lilly says. This sets them apart in itself. So yeah, the cubes, they won’t like the All-American Playboys, but it’s not for them. It’s for the debaucherous type. It’s for us.
Not to agitate the gravel too quickly, but us girls, we gotta go powder our noses and hussy our chassis up. So you just go out and buy this album. It’s got instant approval from the appeasing Lilly McSparkles, reluctant approval from the demure Mistress D’Arci DeLeche, and overall it ruffles my undies and makes me want to go out on the town.





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