the coachwhips are a three or four-piece from san francisco. i am not really sure about the numbers, but it really doesn't matter. whatever their ostensible instruments, everyone in the band ends up making a big fuzzy mess of sound. fuzz, vocals that sound like old men yelling with their heads covered in multiple layers of burlap sacks, fuzz, occasional organ solos, fuzz... this is the essence of the coachwhips. the occasional noise influence pops up (the bassist previously comprised one half of noisemongers pink and brown), but this is mostly the kind of scuzz-blues-rawk one expects from a label like in the red. the atrocious sound quality, then, makes this satisfying in that sleazy kind of way, but the music is just not very good. while the vocals and moderate weirdness keep this more interesting than similar records, any band that repeats itself enough to sound boring when its songs only last one-and-a-half minutes needs to consider diversifying their influences. this is the kind of record that can be the best thing imaginable on one of those sweaty, mindless types of days, and the equivalent of an annoying little brother's garage band on the rest of them.