My Main Shitstain

Sure, the album title is about as random as their name and the way they originated, and yes, their sound is a crazy jumble of gritty, primal punk rebellion, but not for one moment does it not work. Openly stated, they have their shit together--no pun intended.

In order to get that these three people from Bordeaux and a drummer from Berlin are the genuine maverick article, one just has to grab a listen. And be confused. And delighted. And frustrated. And appalled. And strangely aroused. And then listen to track two.

Dark, deluded and dangerously danceable, Paris Suit Yourself are the inspiration for wild dance floor seizures, or, at the very least, lucid gonzo dreams.

It hardly feels coincidental that My Main Shitstain was released on a label called Big Dada, because that's almost exactly what it is: a statement that borders on nonsensical; cynically upbeat garage punk that's equal parts entertainment and introspection. No matter how it's described, however, it's definitely something you won't forget.

An artfully dishevelled, emphatically Gallic racket. [Feb 2011, p.95]

I'm not particularly enthralled by that idea; rock minimalism often is rather aesthetically empty. While faulting the band for taking that route doesn't feel right, it does make the album a rather uneven, if still interesting, affair.

There are too many unlistenable experiments left in, too much bland monotony. What little goodness remains simply isn't worth the effort.

Give this album a very wide berth. [Feb 2011, p.120]