Michigan by way of Seattle weirdos the Spits have become the key to low rent punk stuffs during the first decade of this new millennium. Surely, that sounds like hyperbole, but regardless of what the uninitiated believe, the brothers Wood (Erin [sic], Sean) and Lance Phelps bashing drums issued a disc, Vol. IV, in the middle of ’09. And while not everyone in the world is pleased with the disc, it was kinda impossible for the Spits to continue on such a run of acclaimed albums.

That, though, doesn’t mean that the slab is less than previous efforts, just that folks are getting too picky.

Surely, the first three long players from the Seattle group – and its innumerable slew of singles – comprised tracks that will soon be considered modern classics. So everyone expected to get more of the same on this newest release. And really, that’s what there is. It’s hard to depart from a formula that was codified thirty years ago and updated in the early aughties. There’s no deviation here from previous efforts, but from the first time that I had the pleasure of taking a listen to Vol. IV a bit of grumbling from others has followed.

That being said, if folks find it so difficult to appreciate what’s here, toss on an oldie, but goodie…

The moment that folks perceive some difference in a band that they’ve grown to love, there’s bound to be some small clutch of defectors. That’s all well and good, but the Spits don’t seem to be approaching music any differently here. The one (almost) hiccup in the album could be the ratcheting up of melodicism in the group’s vocals.

And while the Spits always trucked in pop based, fuzzy punk, the chorus from “Life of Crime” could present itself as a problem to some brow furrowing collector. It’s sugary sweet and all, but layered atop one of the most distorted and bassy backing tracks that the group’s come up with thus far. Despite the ridiculous lyrics that accompany the track – which I believe can be understood in a number of ways, but might include the word troglodyte at some juncture – it’s just stripped down, cough syrupy punk. No more, no less.

The reason, in part, that the Spits have been able to amass the following that it has over time is because of its adherence to a simple aesthetic – one that doesn’t really mesh too well with any sort of modernization. So the complaints that the disc have met with could be attributed to the ridiculously short run time of just over fifteen minutes.

With each song landing somewhere between a minute and change and two and a half minutes, though, it works out. The Spits have never had anything too deep to say – and they shouldn’t.

Who would listen? Probably no one.

So while the group’s discs are going to continue to move briskly, shucking this album for the price of a full length might be perceived as lame. But seeing as the difference in run time between this offering and the group’s previous efforts is just a matter of a few minutes, listeners should probably just clam up and be glad that there’s more stuff pouring out of these costumed Seattlites.