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In the past two years, Pissed Jeans has stewed in its own formidable digestive juices, and the result is a bold leap forward into hip-deep sludge.
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There’s the same pent up aggression and wall of sound production, but Pissed Jeans have taken that blueprint and given it grunt and bite, via Korvette’s insurance-salesman-by day-everymanism and Bradley Fry’s knack for turning guitar sludge into genuine riffs.
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King of Jeans successfully consolidates these two strengths, harnessing the earlier record's sometimes directionless fire-extinguisher splatter into shake-appealing rock action, and cohering Korvette's ramblings into a more complete picture of wage-slave misanthropy and alpha-male inadequacy.
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If metal evokes power, and punk evokes weakness, this record is a dive down a well of powerlessness, sinking deeper than they’ve gone before. It goes down swinging blades.
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It is this contrast between the mundanity of the everyday life, personal vanities and dissatisfactions of a bunch of self-styled "young adults" and the terrific roar and hyperbole of their dirty, dark riff-laden music that provides the neat twist in Pissed Jeans' tail and gives this album its extra frisson.
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King Of Jeans burns with enough vitriol and frustration that the music escalates the album’s importance. And, at times, they do grant second-party attention.
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That restlessness and aggression make King of Jeans a visceral, honest mess of a record. This is all ragged glory.
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King of Jeans, for the most part, delivers compact, devastating blows--the tautest, in fact, that the band has ever dealt.
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What makes it so compelling is the simplicity of concept: like everyone, they get pissed off by jerkish behaviour, subdued by small misfortunes and comfort themselves with life’s small pleasures.
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Alternative PressIt crushes with more speed, weirdness and sheer sonic weight than "Hope For Men" and the band's punkier debut, 2005's "Shallow." [Sep 2009, p.108]
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This isn’t a pop record--despite the humor, it’s still bleak, intense, and uncompromising.
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Pissed Jeans have polished up their sound as much as is seemingly possible and because of that they've crafted their finest record yet.
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The sloppy rockers sound frozen in grunge time on their third release, and it works incredibly well for the dipso punks.
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MojoSwinging, hollar-along opener 'False Jesii Part 2' and the hilariously literal 'Request For Masseuse' are sardonic odes to indolence and pain relief respectively, while deadpan monologues 'Spent' and 'Goodbye (Hair)' reflect on time's inexorable passage with amp-crushing poignancy. [Sep 2009, p.95]
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Simply put and strongly stated, King of Jeans goes beyond charting Pissed Jeans’ position as the Deans of Denim--it places them front and center as one of the best and most ferocious guitar bands out there.
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UncutRespect is due--such is their musical vigor, PJ make it sound like it all really matters. [Sep 2009, p.90]
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Their third album is classic hardcore punk: loud, thrashing, and out of control, but with just enough goofy humor to make it easy to swallow.
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There’s a blunt but effective wit at work here, pressed into the service of misanthropy.
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It's overrun by the dissonance of half-step progressions and minor-chord crunch, and it's constantly excruciating.
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Pissed Jeans's jokes aren't yet falling flat, and their balls-to-the-wall throttle has hardly been tamed, but King of Jeans sees the band for the first time failing to avoid passages of power-chord monotony and instances of off-target ridicule.
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