Hooves are a rock n’ roll band. In a traditional sense, you know, with overdriven tube amps and swaggering bravado, with vodka dripping watermelons and cigarette stained fingernails, bad attitudes and hearts of gold. The kind of band you imagine living on some destitute farm, or downtown, in the various historical districts of Phoenix. Places they lived and shared, attacked one another and engaged in furious bear hugs.
Their record, “Greater Aspirations, Lowered Expectations,” is a rock n’ roll record. Again, think traditional. You can hear the sweat, the dirty middle fingers on rusted guitar-strings and pounding pianos. The horns rave up like The Band, singer/songwriter Andrew Krissberg testifies like the Boss, and the whole affair never sounds hopelessly retro; there’s no trying to sound anyway other than what comes natural, and the EP storms and swears in no uncertain terms, utterly sure of itself.
Hooves have hit the road peddling their wares, up and down the West Coast. They’ve shared the stage with Chain and the Gang, The Strange Boys, Japandroids, Titus Andronicus
Avi Buffalo, Dutchess and the Duke, The Crocodiles, Dear and the Headlights, What Laura Says, The Donkeys, Plants and Animals, straddling the midsection between greasy guitar rock and pure pop, forcing audiences to grind against each other in less than dignified manners, winning over crowds with senseless enthusiasm.
Hooves don’t make music for the self-consciously cool. They don’t do it for the money, nor are they opposed to being showered with it. They don’t do it for any other reason than joy, the kind of joy derived from those American ideals of Truth, Freedom and Volume, dusty black Levis and BBQ. It won’t help to read more much about it, so perhaps put the CD in the player and press play. Don’t say I didn’t ask nicely.