"Kill Dr. Phil," one of the tracks on Polidicks Mutenation, begins with a joyfully out-of-context quote from the pop-psyche panacea. It's a clearly stated bon mot, a joke. It's the only clearly understood moment throughout the track, except when the title is repeatedly shouted.
While it's a lovely sentiment, who knows why they want to kill, or even which method of murder they plan? Maybe it's enough to know that the killing will commence, that they're angry with Mr. McGraw, the man formerly known as Oprah's No.2 bitch.
Well then, the Polidicks album should have been called "Rinse and Repeat" because the exact same emotion - and only the exact same emotion - is the reason for the other 14 tracks' existence. The first track on Mutenation is "Fuck It" - and so, ultimately, are all the others.
Quickly listening to this album, I tried to think of the different tracks - I can't fairly use the word "songs" here - as instrumentals, and not music with words, meant to impart meaning. I tried, but the anvils falling downstairs sound is not pretty, pleasant or attractive. Or listenable for any sustained amount of time. Not when there's a world of music that exists, where even the anger makes sense.
While music disabilities, like so many others, can be overcome, the Polidicks have fallen off the chair, at a street corner, and no one's around to help them back up.
Throughout the album there's some serviceable drums, and they stand out as a relief; the guitar chords shine at moments, too; those moments without vocals. "Mother Grubbing Motherfucker," "Out of Touch," "Kill Dr. Phil," "Forced Submission," are all like this. For 40 seconds, "Devoid of Choice" sounds great, with sly whispered asides and a building melding of guitar and percussion. Then the vocal dump starts; which only portrays a din of failed demonology.