Editor’s Note: In the event that you find yourself endlessly scrolling through a gauntlet of streaming services for something to watch, and you come across a comedy special you may not be familiar with, chances are the first question you ask yourself, as you contemplate your next move will be something to the effect of ‘Is this something worth an hour that I can’t get back?’ — and we are here to help you shuffle through the latest and greatest comedy releases to make sure that hour and change is well spent. Welcome to The ReVue Stage. Here in this little corner carved out in Vanyaland’s comedy coverage, we have you covered when it comes to dishing out the good word on everything from new specials and albums, to books and even recaps of live shows. It’s all killer no filler around these parts, comrade. So kick back and let us help you figure out your next dose of comedic relief.
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Have you ever found yourself wondering what it might sound like if artists like Starship, Mike & The Mechanics and The Killers wrote songs about shitting themselves or passive murder and cannibalism? Well, if you have, then you’re in luck, because Wolves of Glendale officially have you covered.
From the very first note of their eponymous debut album, which dropped at the end of January, the Wolves show no chill in the best ways possible, guided by a treasure trove of nostalgia-inducing synth beats and riffs that will almost certainly get stuck in your head for days. Exploring a slew of premises that almost make you frustrated that you hadn’t thought of them and put them to music first, the Los Angeles trio of Tom McGovern, Eric Jackowitz, and Ethan Edenburg go on a full 10-track death ride of hilarity that aims to keep the laughs coming in buckets, while also giving a nod to the ever-crankable power-synth, pop and rock excursions of yesteryear.
While their near-perfect amalgamation of some of the most absurd scenarios and themes you can imagine power the album, spanning from a Vegas adventure that could arguably give Hunter S. Thompson a run for his money in “Vapin’ in Vegas,” all the way to the cheek-clenching roller coaster funk finale of “Planetarium Dump,” the comedic element is still, while massive, only one layer to what makes these 46 minutes and 18 seconds such a creatively impressive piece of work.
Throughout the album, specifically with tracks like the ode to that stereotypical townie burnout we all know in “Loud Ass Car,” to the all-too-relatable pleading of “Just Give Me Cash,” it is abundantly obvious that the creativity and artistic passion poured into the instrumental composition of the record is taken just as seriously as the lyrics are not. Of course, that makes each song that much more enjoyable, but considering how the intensity and actually thought-out nature of the music is accompanied by quite a few verses surrounding the action of shitting and all-round existential dread, the sweet-and-salty type of combo is worthy of a double take that is almost guaranteed to always end with at least a chuckle.
Although they’ve carved out their own space in musical comedy just in the short time they’ve been on the scene, and even more so now, the three-piece – two-thirds of which attended Berklee College of Music – are much more along the lines of The Lonely Island than Weird Al for anyone curious before listening, but the appreciation for the hearty laugh in any form is all the same.
There’s no doubt that comedic drive and musical inspiration run deep in their work, and it’s inevitable that their future projects will harness some crushing laughs again, but when it comes to the age-old belief that nothing will ever be as good as the original, Wolves of Glendale have added even more credence to that sentiment with a rousing, or rather, a howling debut.