What to make of the Dead Kennedys' "Too Drunk to Fuck" done bossa-nova style with vocals by Camille, a uni-monikered songbird who twitters like a tipsy socialite? Is this concept, stretched to album length by the production team of Marc Collins and Oliver Libaus, a silly gimmick? A wry bit of pop-cultural deconstruction? Or something in between?
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Listeners will likely answer these questions differently based upon their vintage (contemporary knowledge of "Teenage Kicks" helps) and the way their affection for punk and post-punk faves manifests itself (contrarians are apt to be amused by a "Guns of Brixton" that sounds like a cheeky nightclub smoker, while devoted leftists who still wear their Clash pins probably won't). In the end, though, the Collins/Libaus opus remains a consistently pleasant listen with a worthy subtext. Sure, transforming "Love Will Tear Us Apart" from the dying wail of a suicidal romantic to a finger-poppin' slab o' Brazil is disrespectful, but so was punk rock's original incarnation. Pretentious former nouvelle-vaguers who've forgotten that need to get over themselves.