The Time Flys

Rebels of Babylon (Birdman)

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


The Time Flys perform on Friday, Feb. 23, at Bottom of the Hill at 9 p.m. Admission is $10; call 621-4455 or visit for more info.
Bottom of the Hill

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