Jacuzzi Boys (USA)
The year, 2007. The Boys, Jacuzzi. Hatched inside a vulture’s nest,
Jacuzzi Boys emerged from deep within the Florida wilds, three
radioactive chicks cawing for their piece of electric rock pie.
With No Seasons (Florida’s Dying) they freaked their way through the
swamps, a psycho stomp of a record, all hallucinations and hand claps.
Glazin’ (Hardly Art) found a more polished sound. They installed AC
units inside their mobile homes, found a way to turn neon into ice
cubes. Now, with their third full-length, the self-titled Jacuzzi Boys,
they’re going grand, building limestone monuments to those that
boogied before them, while writing hypnotic ear worms by the light of a
cigarette. Gone is the swamp-thing snarl. In it’s place, the indestructible
cool of the casino slot-jockey with nothing to lose.
Recorded at Key Club Recording Co. in Benton Harbor, Michigan—
same as 2011’s Glazin’—the new record takes full advantage of expert
engineers Bill Skibbe and Jessica Ruffins’ sonic sandlot, with Kramer in
charge of mastering. The end result? A smashing set of tunes as
dazzling as a sparkler.
It’s like that movie you once saw. The one with the boy and the girl and
the plastic lounger on the beach. “Be My Prism” was the invitation.
“Black Gloves” and “Double Vision” the promise. “Dust” was the rising
tide. “Rubble,” the dirty uncle. “Hotline” was the lightning storm, and
“Ultraglide” was the ending, the part where he drove her home with the
You remember you liked it.
It stayed with you while you swam alone in your pool that night.