The Time Flys

I saw these New York Dolls wannabes at 12 Galaxies over a year ago, and after the set I mentioned to the singer, "You know, you guys spell your name wrong," 'cause, like, they do: It should be "the Time Flies." And the singer looks at me like, "Whatever, dork," (total Fast Times moment), and I feel like a smarty pants 'cause dude just proved he's in a band of glammy poseur clods. Well, turns out the joke was on me for giving a shit. These guys don't care if they spell their name wrong, they don't care if they sing about what it's like to be a shark, and they certainly don't care if I care. But here's what they do care about: They care that their guitars sound just shitty enough (blown out and crunchy), that the drums sound like they were recorded outside the building they were played in — basically, they care that I know they know all about obscure '70s punk 7-inches. Well, great. I know that. And because I know that I can't really say the Time Flys [sic] screwed anything up here, as the record they've created is about as hard to make as a bowl of cereal — Drinking Beer to Make Music to Drink Beer To. If the guys in the Weirdos aren't showing up to Time Flys [sic] shows, it's simply because these days the bands that invented this sound have day jobs and read books. — Garrett Kamps