French Canadians Les Breastfeeders prove that a garage rock revival band by any other name will still sound like the Hives. With a rabidly squealing frontman, Luc Brien and crew careen through forty minutes of fast-paced but ultimately forgettable mod madness.
There’s a rabble-rousing Jet knock-off here (“Chanson Pour Destinee”) and a shimmying homage to Blondie there (“Pas Sans Saveur,” with guitarist/vocalist Suzie McLeLove channeling Deborah Harry). The party drones on with the late-Kinks crunch of “Qui a Deux Femmes,” which translates to “who has two women,” proving that the lure of groupies is universal (what a revelation!).
Les Breastfeeders do ascend from mediocrity when they let McLeLove take the reins – “Funny Funiculaire” is worthy of repeat listens with its springy keyboards, joyful guitar bends, and McLeLove’s Emily-Haines-like coo. Les Matins De Grands Soirs languidly dissolves into “Septembre Sous La Pluie,” a hazy end to the cigarette-choked shindig of an album, which lulls like the syrupy psychedelia of The Beatles’ “She Said She Said.” Tracks like this show promise for future material, but for now the posturing sextet will be relegated to anonymous French-spouting scene kids with no substance.
– Melissa Bobbitt
Les Breastfeeders (Blow the Fuse)