Childish Prodigy

Don't judge a book by its cover. 's long-haired hippie appearance may suggest West Coast roots -- even though he's actually a Philadelphian -- but his sound comes straight out of the underbelly of the Big Apple. With a slack-singing style reminiscent of or , and his vocals doused in slap-back reverb, the songs on shift between gritty numbers driven by guitar fuzz and steady ballads backed by one-key baritone drones. If this sounds a bit derivative of the , well, it is and it isn't. and his backing band are knowledgeable students of the school of rock, circa Son of Sam, but just when you think you have them pegged as leather-clad street hoodlums on a shuffling Roland 707 groove topped with a distortion wall and tense yelps ("I've never been so insulted in my whole life! Shit!"), they double back the other way with the mellow, fingerpicked circles of The '70s New York scene makes up a big chunk of this album, but 's unique as a visionary with his own sound and a wide range of voices that turn from rambunctious to innocent in a blink. is split between drunken caterwauling and quiet hangover-recovery sessions, and both sides of the spectrum are fantastic. The band's spirit is captured perfectly, courtesy of 's open-sounding recording style, and the indie underground rarely seems this fresh and free. ~ Jason Lymangrover