By avoiding the pitfalls of “cheesy white-guy funk” and not expecting us to find rock-reggae a novel idea, The Suits successfully blend their influences and their intentions to create a catchy breed of island-vibe, upbeat rock and roll meant to rock a barshow. Part of their success is the diversity from track to track: they have a distinct sound, and meddle in a clear genre, but they do not carbon copy that sound song after song. “Up High” opens the album with a light, breezy soft rocker, and is followed by the harder, chugging “Stolen Years.” Tracklisting wise, they were wise to stack “Money” at the end, as it’s the reggae song their sound had been dancing around all album long. And it’s a jam, with some great lead guitar work and a bassline worth a scuff. Their bio cites their influences as “ranging from The Doors to The Red Hot Chili Peppers” but you won’t hear either of those bands in their sound, and nor should musicians cut so close as to emulate. The band work well together, in crafting these songs, and the addition of keys was a great choice for adding extra texture that knocks the sound up a notch (and that’s a pretty funky intro in track 3, appropriately titled “Keys.”) Mad props to Georgie Newman too, for the recording. It sounds great, polished, crisp and clear. The EP is worth your time and dime if island rock is your bag. All 4 tracks made the cut for Overcast Radio.
There’s a lot of shouting and screaming sure, but the real energy here, the real balls and heart, come from the pounding, first-rate music. The guitar and bass are in your face, relentless in both originality and rage, and the drums are getting a proper beating in keeping up with the unrestrained guitars. “Meat Grinder” acts as a perfect introduction to the band’s intensity and talents, while “Roy Goes to Panama” is a structurally interesting traipse through weird timing and songwriting – the entire centre section of the song isn’t your average riff and begs the question of how a song like that is even written. Stick around, and the song sails into mosh pit magic. Two tacks, “Many Masks” and “Back of the Bus,” are reminiscent of Insecticide-era Nirvana, when they were more concerned with loudness and experimentation than commercial viability. New Babysitter is a heavy-ass album, but while it might scare away your average nan, Pervert Week – like Metz – manage to straddle that rare crossover area of musical genres that makes its heaviness accessible to audiences normally wary of such heaviness. Underneath the distorted pounding and grinding, there’s a solid sound even the meek and dainty musical ear can appreciate. A stand-out song might be “Tommy,” catchy as hell, loud as fuck, and a little slice of mosh pit heaven that borrows metal’s way of using a soft, quiet bridge to make the upswing all the wilder. Pervert Week are definitely reinvigorating their genre, and might have just proven themselves to be the local kings of it too.