I’m kind of scared of Be Your Own Pet, which is embarrassing
because I’m too young to be scared of this band. Be Your Own Pet are a
punk band from Nashville whose oldest member can’t drink, or, well, at
least he’s not supposed to. I’m not either, so these are my people, but
Jemina Pearl, Be Your Own Pet’s short-circuited frontwoman, appears to
have spent her just-concluded teenage years in a destructive, adorable
sugar rush, whereas I spent mine compulsively alphabetizing things.
I’m a little hung up about this. But I like this band because they
screw with my hangups until I’m forced to forget it. Enough spiky-sweet
punk songs about bratty debauchery and I move past resistance, toward
furtive enjoyment. Enough Pearl-squeals about towns so boring that
someone has to die, and I’m actually comfortable with her. Halfway
through their sophomore album, Get Awkward, I’m so sold on her
unrepentant-delinquent schtick that when the Russ Meyer goof “The Kelly
Affair” comes along (“Everybody here parties all the time/Everybody
here has got sex on their mind”) I’m disappointed to hear her
protesting too much. Then someone giggles, “I dunno, I’m TRIPPING,” on
the bridge and I realize she’s probably making fun of me.
Get Awkward sparkles with irony—real
I-didn’t-expect-this-but-it-makes-sense irony—and the most
romantic song is “Zombie Graveyard Party,” which, as expected, goes
“Life is lame so let me eat your brain.” The most complex song is
“Heart Throb,” where the worst part about wanting to make out with a
potential boyfriend is that he’s “making me think way too hard.” And
the best song on Get Awkward isn’t actually on it, because Pearl
kills “Becky” (the title character in the controversial song of the
same name, which was deemed acceptable for release everywhere but the
States) at the end, and you’re not allowed to do that on a Universal
record. Unless you’re Eminem. This is usually not my thing, but that’s
why I’m going.
Eventually you run out of stuff to alphabetize.