The Dudes, Blood Guts Bruises Cuts

By Danny R. Phillips

In my younger years, Power Pop was a genre that I avoided it like the Black Plague or Herpes. As a long time advocate of the virtues of punk rock I could not allow myself to support music with such an identity crisis. Was it hard rock? Bubblegum? What? With a few exceptions, mainly Cheap Trick, The Cars, and the riff from “Jessie’s Girl,” it was not something I championed or even tolerated.

Then came the 1990s and with it came bands like Weezer and the exceptional songsmith Matthew Sweet, musicians who embraced the principles of power pop and drank fully of its long and storied past. Perhaps years had softened my barriers or I was now old enough to see that punk has its limits. Power Pop was no longer the enemy.

Now I come to Blood Guts Bruises Cuts, the latest from Canada’s own power pop dynamos, The Dudes. In spite of their less than imaginative choice of band name, The Dudes have managed to make one of the best, most polished, and well-rounded albums I’ve heard this year thus far.

What makes this album so good is the band’s obvious deep and unwavering passion for power poppery with no room or reason for apology. But pop and good times are not all this record is about.

There are AC/DC-sized riffs coated in sugar, pounding arena rock drums, and a vocalist in Danny Vacon who sings with equal parts Josh Homme (Queens Of The Stone Age) and Steve Miller with just a splash of Ben Harper for the moments when a little soul is required.

The lyrics are what you would expect for a record such as this. There is the idea of wanting someone else’s girl (“Mr. Someone Else”), being kept down by a girl (“Girl Police”), and perhaps wanting a girl back that you’ve lost (“Honest Mistake”). No, the lyrical content of the songs aren’t as deep as those explored on say, the latest Magnetic Fields record, but I don’t think they’re supposed to be. And therein lies their charm. It is apparent that The Dudes do not take themselves seriously but did take the recording of this record VERY SERIOUSLY.

It sounds big: the production is polished to a glossy sheen, the guitars are heavy when a solo is needed, the bass (provided by Scott Munroe) is a huge bottom end, and the drums (Scott Ross) beg you to turn the stereo way up loud.

In short, Blood Guts Bruises Cuts has everything it’s supposed to: sticky sweet laments, party time anthems, soaring guitars, and songs that are mostly about chicks.

Plus, any band that can name check Bon Jovi and The Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds in the same song and not make it sound too cheesy or forced scores at least a few points in my book.

Frankly, I think if this record doesn’t get the band a major deal in the States, nothing will. It’s infectious, catchy as a cold in an elementary school, and a downright good ass time.

One thing does bother me: it’s a minor thing but bothersome nonetheless.

Unless they plan on playing frat parties and bars the rest of their lives, The Dudes should think about a name change. The name just isn’t memorable. Dudes are just people you know. Dudes are the guys who buy you beer when you’re under age. Dudes are not typically the guys from whom you expect great albums.

But then again, Blood Guts Bruises Cuts could change all that.

To hear tracks from the album, check out The Dudes on MySpace.