Thoroughlev by Raft Of Dead Monkeys (Review)

Raft of Dead Monkeys is one band that must be heard at some point in this fruitful life of ours.
Thoroughlev - Raft of Dead Monkeys

A couple of years ago, Jeff Suffering (Ninety Pound Wuss) and Doug Lorig and Matt Johnson (Roadside Monument) all decided to play a joke. It would go something like this. They would pretend to be a stuck-up, ego-driven rock band named “Raft of Dead Monkeys.” The group would focus on singing nonsensical lyrics reflecting their screwed up culture, along with a lot of screaming. Unfortunately, only about 2 or 3 people in Seattle got the joke, while everyone else scratched their heads in utter confusion (and awe).

Perhaps the problem was that Raft of Dead Monkeys was actually a really good band. The musical geniuses in Raft were just too in love with crafting a perfect tune to let their talents go to waste. Parody or not, the songs presented here are some of the coolest, well-written stuff I’ve heard since, well, Roadside Monument.

Like that wonderful band (which is currently having a resurrection), Raft of Dead Monkeys was not afraid to experiment, despite the consequences. And their last full-length album, Thoroughlev, is one such chemistry set. With various members taking turns at vocal and instrumental solos, the whole thing is an absolute wonder for virgin ears. Some songs never seem to end (a good thing, mind you), switching gears in mid-tune and suddenly going a different direction. It’s a darn fun thing to listen to.

Thoroughlev offers nine hard-hitting rock songs, sandwiched in between two instrumental tracks like a nice, thick sub at Fazoli’s (with plenty of spice). The first one, “This Is Us,” sets the mood for the album nicely, with the creative guitar and keyboard solos leaving me hungry for more. Thankfully, I got more. Each track here has something neat to offer for a starving man lost in a musical desert. “Runnin’ Hot” is a great rocker, while “So Sayeth The Shepherd, So Sayeth The Flock” has a post-Blenderhead quality to it.

“Champ Arcade” is an ultra-catchy “poppy” tune (for this album) that will latch onto your memory and not let go for days. One of my favorite songs is the haunting title track, where Lorig and Suffering take turns singing, rather eerily, about their “California Angel”; the song’s got a real spark to it I really like. Raft Of Dead Monkeys finishes their album off with the aforementioned instrumental track, conceitedly named “You’re Not Us.” Here, the band goes quite overboard with various instruments, from pianos to congo drums, leaving the listener with one, beautiful collage of sounds.

Besides the great music, Thoroughlev also contains some rather hilarious lyrics that Spinal Tap would be proud of. Tracks like “Runnin’ Hot” and “Sammy The Bull” get right to the crude-and-rude dirt, as do many others, especially the kid-friendly “2 Year Lease” (assuming your kid is a pimp). Many of these songs are full-frontal lyrical assaults against those who like “nice” words… not for the light-of-heart, yet hysterically funny.

Jeff Suffering has been labeled by Fine Print Mag as this generation’s Michael Knott. If this is true, then Thoroughlev is his Aunt Bettys album, pushing boundaries deemed inappropriate by most Christian circles. While I wouldn’t recommend them to your average, Newsboy-listening youth group kid, Raft of Dead Monkeys is one band that must be heard at some point in this fruitful life of ours. Music that works on two levels is something to be checked out. Plus, who can resist owning an album containing song titles such as “Slip Into Someone Comfortable”? Heck, who can resist owning an album by a band named Raft of Dead Monkeys?

Side Note: Now that Raft of Dead Monkeys have parodied the gimmicky rock n’ roll scene (along with Spinal Tap), I think it’s time we had some rock n’ roll band mock the indie scene. How I’d love to see Creed mess up their hair, don black-rimmed glasses, and pretend they’re “underground,” singing their songs with whispered vocals. We’ll have to see…

Written by Jeremy E. Nyhuis.

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