MATERIAL GIRLS owe nothing in the way of explanation. This is realized as soon as the first of six pairs of heels hits whatever stage you are lucky to be standing in front of. Boasting tenebrous basslines, libidinous horns, snarling guitars, and perpetually rotating vocalists, this sextet has proven that the "rock n roll band" has become a tired algorithm in a world where the populous is scrolling and swiping their lives away. After performing their first show in November of 2016, it only took a matter of weeks before word of their lipstick-stained, wine-drunk calamity of a live show spread up and down the east coast as the band played to enthusiastic crowds in New York, Philadelphia, DC, Nashville, and their native Atlanta. From streets paved in chicken bones and swisher guts, the eighth circle of Hell, East Atlanta trash babies in dollar store eyeliner, MATERIAL GIRLS have a heel on the throat of modern entertainment.
Think Captain Beefheart (mid 70’s vintage), Sun City Girls, The Sonics and your mother’s underwear drawer.
In classical minimalism there is the debt of influence to rock's chugging repetitions. 75 Dollar Bill pays the influence back, their endless loops looping like Philip Glass jamming with John Cale-era Velvet Underground. Add a penchant for eastern harmonies and you have an album I will voluntarily drown myself in, again and again and again and again. nowideau