I know it’s so easy to shit on Canadians. We’re too polite, too goofy, too physically healthy (because god forbid we need a therapist or some shit) from socially funded hospitals and doctors, and definitely too good at hockey. We’re such shits in so many fields that we even gotta share ourselves with the rest of the world so we’re not so focused on in one location and thus fermenting in our shittyness. Take our maple syrup, whored out hockey players and naturally sourced forms of renewable energy as a prime example. Or maybe our fucking awesome punk rock. Matter of fact, let’s look at our fucking awesome punk a little closer shall we? Meet the mighty melo punk bop that is Swayze out of Saskatoon, SK (yeah, even Saskatchewan gets wet) and their latest five song cheek shmacker EP known only as St. Angry. Boy. Fucking. Howdy.
The short and skinny of this whole ordeal is nobody could have seen this bitching piece coming. Not even Saskatchewan, and they see everything coming (Get it. Because they’re flat. I’m funny fuck you). Swayze has an uncanny ability to spit out something that reminds you of a band you love, then immediately knocks your asshole with a right hook of originality, something simple but unmistakably unique. St. Angry puts this method of ear slamming on display from front to back. Opening title track “St. Angry” bleeds your need to jerk off to some mid life Flatliners records because CANADIAN PUNK FUCKS HARD. Follow that up with the groovy 90’s mess that is “Trambopoline” to help bop your shit a little bit more in a fashion common to melodic inspired punk acts of today, but original enough to have you wanting only this.
“Large Island Iced Tea” brings back the blue collar punk and your high school loves for Dropkick Murphys and Anti Flag, only with a higher bop content than is normally found in either of these acts. This rip through is eventually emulsified once again with a much more mature and emotional tone reminiscent of bands like Hot Water Music in “Gorilla for Sale.” Love infused grooves, nasty tones, dirty riffing, tear jerking melodies, Merengue dancing, and roundhouse kicks with a fatal throat rip. Swazye doesn’t just fuck on birthdays and special occasions, it fucks because nobody puts baby in a corner.
Everything about this EP does exactly what you want an EP to do and on a standard that shouldn’t be waived just because it’s an EP. She sounds just the right amount of stank nasty angst punk with the kind of clarity that makes this style crush your heart. There’s enough sheer content here to make you completely fall in love at a first Lift a la Película Baile Sucio, Toro y Torero whilst still leaving you begging for more. This is straight up an attractive piece of work and anybody that’s enjoyed just about any kind of punk short of the race baiting bullshit can find something to love about it. So much so that it’s honestly difficult to find something you don’t like about it short of the anxious anticipation of what a full length is going to look like from here. Side effects may include excessive bopping and an unpleasant urge to watch both Dirty Dancing and Road House in no particular order.
Written by Jason Greenberg
*Edited by Dominic Abate