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The Forty-Fives
Fight Dirty
Yep Roc Records
By William Michael Smith
 There should
be an extra "credit" slot on the liner sleeve for The
Forty-Fives' Fight Dirty.
Air guitar: (fill in the name of whomever is listening)
While I don't subscribe to the Rolling Stone magazine
theory that bands like The Hives, The Strokes, White Stripes
et. al. are "the saviors of rock and roll," I do subscribe
to the theory that this basic, amped-up, hell-for-leather modern
garage rock genre is a lot more fun to listen to than the blathering
pretentiousness of bands like Nickel Back and all that ilk that
seem to dominate the MTV airwaves of late. As much about attitude
and sweat as about virtuosity and musical prowess, Fight Dirty
will undoubtedly cause an epidemic of tennis elbow among
avid practitioners of the fine art of air guitar.
The band's formula is simple: a mix of snarling guitar riffs,
a funky organist who runs his fingers across the keys faster
than a mouse on skates, and a rhythm section whose primary goal
in life seems to be to make dancers sweat. There are no pretensions
of "deep thoughts" on these songs devoted to the core
curriculum of rock -- girls, love, sex, and rock and roll ("Trying
to Get Next to You," "Lost Track of You," "My
Kind of Girl"). They are all manic, barely-under-control,
blow-your-hair-back sonic excursions. Stylistically the music
owes its soul to Beatles era, pre-psychedilic '60s party records
(for some reason, the Electric Prunes leap to mind, and torrid
songs like "Lies" by The Knickerbockers or "Kicks"
by Paul Revere and The Raiders). There is punk attitude, but
the vibe is all garage band, conjuring up visions of mini-skirts
and go-go booted dancers in cages. Fly-eyed sunglasses are a
must at this heads bobbing, hair flying Frug-fest.
Although these rockers hail from Atlanta, they also have a
lot of Motor City muscle in their sound, like Iggy Pop running
head on into Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels. The band's secret
weapon is the keyboard work of Trey Tidwell. This isn't the slinky
groove of "96 Tears" or Augie Meyer's mild Farfisa
from the Quintet, this is heavy-handed energetic key flurries,
what Little Richard or Jerry Lee might've accomplished had their
weapon of choice been the organ rather than piano. With guitarist
Bryan Malone's constant riffing complemented by Tidwell's two-handed
fill-the-holes keyboard funk, these tracks never stray far from
the basic groove.
Producer Rick Miller of Southern Culture on the Skids has
an obvious affinity for these thick, oozing rock grooves, and
his production values are huge sound, minimal distraction. It's
a formula that seems perfect for the raw energy of The Forty-Fives.
Anyone seen the Ben-Gay liniment? My elbow is killing me.
* www.yeproc.com
Contact William Michael Smith at wms-at-rockzilla.net
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