Ass Ponys Albums (6)
What The Critics Say
"Last Night It Snowed" begins as a gentle ballad, caressed by a quiet piano and sung with a heartfelt longing. Of course that's before an electric guitar kicks in, bringing a cowpunk assault down upon the unsuspecting listener's ears. What follows is a fairly eclectic and somewhat depressing alternative country album released by Checkered Past, the label that "loves misery." Like labelmates 16 Horsepower, the Ass Ponys' dour disposition seems incapable of finding much hope and sunshine in the world. The subdued opening of "Donald Sutherland" lifts the spirits a bit until Chuck Cleaver sings, "When the moment finally comes/I could be the trigger, you could be the gun/That blows out the back of my skull." Of course odd lyrics come part and parcel with Cleaver's point of view, mixing cultural references -- Big Macs, the TV series Kung Fu -- with deep philosophy. An acoustic guitar lays down a nice base for "Dried Up," a standout track that vividly contrasts being young and alive to losing one's edge and "drying up." "Baby in a Jar" is a fun track, recalling the warped world of the Bad Livers. While Lohio has a number of promising moments, one cannot help but feel that a trip to the Caribbean or perhaps a healthy dose of Prozac would help to lift the Ass Ponys' sagging spirits. Fans, however, will be pleased that the band has survived a bout with a major label and is still offering its unblinking vision of life in the gutter. ~ Ronnie D. Lankford Jr., All Music Guide
'Some Stupid with a Flare Gun'
Release Date 4/11/2000
Tracks 12
Label Checkered Past
See Album Tracklist and Review
What The Critics Say
Here's another veteran U.S. underground combo that wasn't killed by being signed and then dropped by a major label, as happened so damn often during the '90s. Perhaps it's been four years since A&M gave Ass Ponys the heave after their second major LP (fourth overall), 1996's The Known Universe, but Cincinnati's second best-loved band (behind the Afghan Whigs) is still going strong on Some Stupid. Never the most consistent bunch, the comeback record is as ever hit-and-miss, but, like previous albums, the hits are sincere enough to make the group worthwhile. True, Chuck Cleaver's nasally, twangy voice is an acquired taste, like Lotion's singer, only higher, but he also seems genuine in his wry but sympathetic tales of small town inertia on "Your Amazing Life," "Side Winder," and "Casper's Coming Home," plus he's remains game for goofball wordplay on "X-tra Nipple." The group also still has the rootsy-Midwestern pop thing down: The truly great track, "Astronaut," is an instant pleaser, a hook so big you'll think "hit single." The louder backing for Cleaver's trilling sets the tone for the remainder, and on the later reverberating tracks, the foursome makes the best use of supple bassist Randy Cheek -- who'd previously contributed so much to one of the greatest overlooked bands of the 1980s, the Libertines. Overall, solid, unpretentious fun. ~ Jack Rabid, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Having made the transition to major labeldom fairly painlessly, the Ass Ponys continue on their odd little road effectively with Universe. Cleaver's quivery voice and tweaked view of the universe both remain intact, while Curley once again mans the production board to good effect. The band as a whole also sounds perfectly poised between good rock stuff and slightly warped presentation. The first song sets the overall tone perfectly: "Shoe Money" has a nicely off mid-song breakdown, while one line notes a graffito reading "Satin live in hell," concluding "his disciples sure can't spell." Religion and death actually form something of a semi-theme throughout the album; while not a concept album or anything, the Ponys definitely are looking to apply their magnifying glass to fractured, unsure situations big and small. "God Tells Me To" is especially tweaked in this regard, a pretty piano/guitar main melody and sweetly rocking performance supporting lines describing burning ants with magnifying glasses and concluding "I only hurt because I think of you, and I only kill because God tells me to." "And She Drowned" is metaphorical, referring to getting lost in past memories stirred up, but no less effective for that, while the music even breaks into a funky breakbeat for a bit. Other moments capture more general doubt and uncertainty, often delivered with a lovely, fragile beauty that is perhaps the Ponys' most underrated, attractive feature. "Dead Fly the Birds," with Cleaver in a fine falsetto over a slow band arrangement, captures a gnawing, uncertain fear with quiet grandeur, while "It's Summer Here," though musically a confidently chugging rocker, celebrates the season with descriptions of headless turtles' blood draining onto the grass and barbers burning hair. Never ones to take the easy way around things, on Universe the Ponys continue their unique look at American life with aplomb. ~ Ned Raggett, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Produced in part by the Afghan Whigs' John Curley, the Ass Ponys' first album establishes the band's wonderfully fun and shaggy aesthetic from the start. "Hey Swifty" may have the ghost of R.E.M. hanging over the proceedings; to be sure, that ghost is present in the hints of jangle and vocal catch which surface in Cleaver's singing more than once. Still, that Athens, GA foursome never played a song detailing holding one's hand over a candle, shooting "that mother in the mirror," then being invited to "come around sometime" while dying on the rug -- all in the first verse! With that as their start, the Ass Ponys take a ten-song trip around a rural America of quirks and strange cul-de-sacs, always with a good ear for solid, sometimes melancholy indie-rock melodies and performances, while rarely sounding patronizing or goofy for the hell of it. At times they definitely seem a bit like the country cousin of They Might Be Giants at their most annoying; "Ford Madox Ford" gets in a couple of zingers at the poet in question, but the music is more distinct than the words. Such moments, however, are few and far between, happily. Instead, it's images like "pissing on a campfire/with the morning coming close" in "Laughing at the Ghosts" and hiding from the rain in an abandoned car in "Thank You for the Roses" that stand out, showing Cleaver as a genius for sharp, tender imagery. "(We All Love) Peanut Butter," a sweetly silly song by another act, gets covered by the Ponys with aplomb, but the deceptively gentle title track takes top honors, something recognized by the Whigs when they did a remake of it four years later. Combining a strange, unsettling lyric describing a vague scene of romantic turmoil and physical abuse with a chorus about being "Mr. Superlove," it's little surprise that Greg Dulli found some inspiration here. ~ Ned Raggett, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
The somewhere between funny and odd album title, not to mention the vegetable-people art on the inside, gives a fair enough indication as to where the Ass Ponys would go with their major-label bow -- namely, in the same direction as always, and with fine results. Cleaver's singing is still just freaky enough on the one hand, high and quavery, and straightforward enough on the other to ensure that the band stood out in the rush of commercial alternative tomfoolery of the early '90s. Together the four musicians could kick up a chiming guitar storm and quietly lull without sounding like another Nirvana wannabe. Often it comes down the low-key strengths of the group to add just enough to songs, whether it's Erhardt's good way around pedal and slide guitars or Morrison's addition of organ as well as percussion. Perhaps tellingly enough, commercial success never resulted for them, but it wasn't for lack of quality. When at their most straightforward, the Ponys still know how to spike the cocktail; "Little Bastard" rides a great classic rock wah-wah/indie music combination chug, but the lyrics, detailing a kid getting mocked by his grandma and later wetting himself, don't smell of teen spirit in any combination. Other similarly off-kilter references include alien visitations, sucking someone off for cigarettes, or watching Heaven's Gate ("but the movie lasted far too long"). The sense is of cheerfully strange good and bad times a la the Flaming Lips instead of studied wackiness from the likes of Phish or the Barenaked Ladies. If there's a perfect moment on the album, "Live Until I Die" could probably take the cake, detailing the passing of another day doing not much ("I'm still in my underwear, listening to 'The Weight'") with a fun groove and kick. ~ Ned Raggett, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Ass Ponys are often unfairly regarded as a joke band, a characterization that is never less appropriate than on the group's 1993 sophomore album, Grim, which lives up to its title and then some. Sounding at times like Fables of the Reconstruction-era R.E.M. but with less distinct country-rock backing, the real centerpiece of the effort is Chuck Cleaver's bizarre but poetic lyrics. Cleaver takes twisted backwoods tales and freak-show tragedies and infuses them with just enough wistful reflection to turn Deliverance-style black humor into sometimes crushingly affecting narratives. "Julia Pastrana" is a perfect example: Cleaver sings about the famous hairy woman who was exhibited throughout the U.S. in the 19th century, but instead of playing for the story laughs, he crafts historical fact into a subtle but effective piece that drives home the lifetime of exploitation this woman experienced. Depressing, uneven, unsettling, and -- occasionally -- funny, Grim, when it hits its mark, is strong stuff. ~ Greg Adams, All Music Guide
