Everybody knows at least one douchebag with a closet full of Affliction T-shirts and a litany of exaggerated stories about getting drunk and high every weekend. There are countless Facebook wall posts bragging about how wasted he got and pictures of his fake-and-bake face grinning like an idiot. He listens to Nickelback and gets in fights with people for making incidental eye contact with him. Somehow he has a really hot girlfriend, but she’s a comatose space cadet with a helium voice and he’s only into her for her fake tits and Costco card. He uses the word "bro" in nearly every sentence and smells like pure ego in a bag.
Vancouver’s Cocaine Moustache is that douchebag.
On the Mirror is their debut album (probably) and it’s an exercise in endurance. The stoner rock and blues vibes melt together well enough, but the band doesn’t seem to know when it’s time to cut out and let the energy simmer for itself. The songs are too long by about two minutes on average and vocalist White Willie Sniffsum overdoes it.
That the lyrics would be pathetic and filled with references to drinking and doing drugs is not surprising. This isn’t deep rock and roll by any extent, but there are some threads of humour that make Cocaine Moustache at least moderately accessible to those whose idea of a perfect weekend doesn’t involve snorting lines off the toilet seat at the local watering hole.
Guitarists Bill “Hundred Dollar” Rollins and Schnick Von Schlutzzz are the best things about this band. Their guitar work is riff-heavy and chunky in all the right places, but they aren’t given as much time to shine as one would expect.
“We don’t believe in heaven, we don’t believe in hell, we believe in drinking, and we do it really well,” goes the military-like chant that kicks of “Cocaine Moustache,” a song that introduces the band with stoner riffs and Sniffsum’s mocking. “If you prefer to be sober,” he sings to the raging alcoholics, “we bet you like to kneel.”
“The Drip” kicks off On the Mirror with some nice drums from Dr. Cleanplate and a desert-stung riff. Unfortunately, the song drags on far too long and the repetition starts to get out of hand.
The same lack of restraint and nose for going way overboard plagues “The Pledge,” a song that finds its bluesy acoustic guitar work outweighed by Sniffsum’s loutish inclination to stuff his lines with far too many words. There’s no cadence to his shout-infected vocals and, as a result, any real blues goodness is flushed down the drain with the last of Sniffsum’s stash. Even the attempted Steven Tyler yell falls flat.
Cocaine Moustache isn’t all bad news, of course. These cats seem to have a sense of humour and they take their partying seriously, but there’s not much going on when the white dust settles.