So, if you check out the multi-minion review of the WRAS benefit show, you'll probably note that I'm a big fan of this band. Oh yes, English cow-punk doth massively kick the ass. Pay no attention to the other minions and their "moderate" opinions. The Wacos are no place for moderation. The Wacos demand superlatives. The Wacos refuse mediation.

But that's just my opinion, of course. You're free to think otherwise, to form your own opinion, to revel in your own uniqueness and individuality, ignoring completely the fascistic standard mongering of a guy who calls himself Malimus. That's your prerogative, of course. I'd hate to give the impression that I was trying to jack-boot my own understanding and appreciation of the world's last living rock band onto you. You're free to believe anything you want, including the possible belief that The Wacos are not the greatest living rock band.

You'd be wrong, dead wrong, but you're free to be wrong if you like. Lots of people died horrible bloody deaths just so you can have that choice. But you're wrong. Just know that. The Wacos are, in fact, the greatest band in the world.

Unfortunately, The Wacos stumble, half-drunk and shouting down the bloody man as they come, into a pitfall that has hampered many a great band. They can't turn out a record that lives up to their live show. That's not to say they can't turn out good albums, but if you've ever seen a live Waco Brothers set and then listened to any of their albums (and you have the taste of a rutabaga) you'll find something missing. It's just not the same.

Electric Waco Chair is no different, really. They're great songs on this album (notably It's Not Enough, Walking on Hell's Roof Looking at the Flowers, and Fox River), but it's not the same. Sure, Electric Waco Chair has been in my "steady rotation" stack since October, but it still fails to generate the same blistering groove that a live show does. Sure, Electric Waco Chair will probably be in my "steady rotation" stack for the next six months as well. Sure, John Langford would kick that Bedhead fucker's scrawny ass all over creation if I even thought about replacing Electric Waco Chair with this week's latest, greatest mope-core offering. But it still lacks the luster of Langford, Dean-o and Tracy Dear (the world's greatest living Englishman) tearing through hell and high water to resurrect Hank, Sr. before his progeny sent the world to Hell proper.

All told, I'd give Electric Waco Chair five sponges, but only because I've seen them live and I know what they are truly capable of, and it's not possible to get that off of digitally compressed bytes and bits. Perhaps if I hadn't seen the live set I'd give it six sponges, 'cause it is really good, and there's enough post-Marxist anarcho-angst on it to warrant an extra sponge or two. Perhaps as time passes and the disc continues to remain firmly entrenched in my rotation at the continued expense of newer but not quite as lasting discs I'll come closer to the Stomp and Stammer line. But until then five sponges will have to do, with the foreknowledge that I'll be giving any live show that doesn't end in my death (and possibly one that might) seven-sponge reviews for this band, henceforth and well into posterity.