Before jokesters like Toby Keith got ahold of the imagery, there was something to be said about being a uniquely American band. And really, there still is. There's a subtext and beauty to so much of the best American music and Athens four-piece Kilroy fits in this tradition alongside the likes of Neil Young, the Feelies, the Dream Syndicate, the Scud Mountain Boys and Tom Petty. Hell, the band is named after the distinctive brand of graffiti left by U.S. troops throughout Europe during World War One - it's hard to get more American than that. “Tenderfoot” follows the pathways of the aforementioned Young with its fuzzy, grand intro and minor-key chord progression. “Blue Star on a Gray Field” slowly drifts along with a guitar melody straight out of the Galaxie 500 songbook, albeit with a thousand times more punch. When a pretty guitar interlude occurs around four minutes in, it serves the actual song rather than merely showcasing a particular performer's ego, and this is something that Kilroy does very well. The band uses as much studio action as it needs to get the songs across, but the focus is conveying the songs; and as a result, the group shines. Kilroy is lyrically strong as well, with one line in particular resonating throughout the album. On “Old Money,” “Well, oh, well / put me under the jail / Lord knows I was the hammer and the nail” is the lyrical touchstone of an album that deals heavily with loss, regret, soft melancholy and tenderness. The sole misstep on this record is the crawling psychedelia of the intro to “The Mayan.” But there's just so much to love about this album that to call it perfect would risk having people dismiss it as easily. And that would be a shame because, even though nothing may be perfect, The Violent Jolt of the Capitol comes pretty damn close.

Gordon Lamb - FLAGPOLE MAGAZINE