“I could be your doom-boy. We could hold hands. And listen to Slayer in the back of my Dodge Caravan.” A minute into song one on Fuck Art (shortened down to the more politically correct ‘F-Art’), and, lyrically, I already love it. “Doom Boy” features a killer thrash-metal intro before settling into a NILified power-pop anthem that levies the heavy. F-Art is an album of quaran-tunes only because the eleven songs on the album were written and recorded during this year-of-the-suck. With that said, the record features no songs about isolation, no ditties about the imminent apocalypse; No ruminations on the triumph of the human spirit in the face of adversity. Instead, here are tunes about dysfunctional relationships, getting your bike stolen, idiots on the internet, and the anxiety of entering...
