Maybe they're just tired of playing the same song. Once you've heard "Hurricane" -- the first track off Runnin' Thru My Bones -- you've heard 'em all, every song a slight variation of the same theme, three chords wrapped around singer Justin's two-note shriek. To say the least, it becomes tiresome after a while. Track Five, "Strut," with its "be-bop-a-lula" chant, was my breaking point. Of course, the band isn't that different from the number of local groups who do the same thing with varying degrees of skill and success, most notably the Riverboat Gamblers, who have the talent and charisma to make up for anything they lack in originality. The Tight Bro's, on the other hand, have neither; it could be a different story live, where enough sweat and guitar salutes can allow anything to approach entertaining (cf. ASKA).
To give The Tight Bro's the benefit of the doubt, the band is obviously aware of the clichés it has so hopelessly wrapped itself in. From the prolific use of exclamation points in both song titles (14 in 11 songs) and lyrics (just about every one) to the schlocky packaging and the generic songs about cars, girls, and rock and roll, Runnin' Thru My Bones seems to be somewhat of a spoof of the garage-rock scene, an inside gag that about five people will get. Still, that may be giving the band too much credit, and besides, a joke that has to be explained isn't that funny anyway. And if The Tight Bro's are not joking, well, I just lost 30 minutes of my time I'm never going to get back.
-- Zac Crain
