That minimally accompanied guitar noodle propelling the first minute or so is only the first stage in a Crawdaddies kiss-off. The rough-edged garage-rock verses and call-and-response coda provide catharsis, but the bookending guitar wank shifts gears just as you expect the fade-out. The riffage waxes reggae for the song’s finale, indicating that either the Human Beinz treatment heals emotional wounds in three minutes or less, or the “love” in question wasn’t worth remembering past the next dutchie pass.
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