Adelaide's Molting Vultures have come a long way from their debut release, 2006's 'This Won't Hurt A Bit'. That's saying something, because that particular disc was a great little introduction to a band who unashamedly and unselfconsciously party like its 1982 - or more specifically, like they're warming up for the likes of the Lime Spiders or The Cramps. On 'Get A Grip' the band does sonic justice to leader Nick Schubert's vision, drastically beefing up its sound with a decent recording budget, availing themselves of the services of respected producer Matt Hills, and perhaps most importantly, expanding their palette to include an omnipresent swirling organ. From a three-piece with modest musical ambitions, the MVs have evolved into a gang of six or seven (depending on who shows up to 'play' the theremin), and now they sound like a souped-up hot rod bursting free of the limits of the garage and hightailing it to the nearest surf beach.
I'm less persuaded by the band's decision to include a couple of obscure covers. As faithful as their renditions are, The MVs have material that can stand on its own two feet, and indeed, the standout originals (specifically, Get A Grip, Triggs Beach, and Don't Go Messin') are just as authentic as those penned by their heroes.
Adelaide's Molting Vultures have come a long way from their debut release, 2006's 'This Won't Hurt A Bit'. That's saying something, because that particular disc was a great little introduction to a band who unashamedly and unselfconsciously party like its 1982 - or more specifically, like they're warming up for the likes of the Lime Spiders or The Cramps. On 'Get A Grip' the band does sonic justice to leader Nick Schubert's vision, drastically beefing up its sound with a decent recording budget, availing themselves of the services of respected producer Matt Hills, and perhaps most importantly, expanding their palette to include an omnipresent swirling organ. From a three-piece with modest musical ambitions, the MVs have evolved into a gang of six or seven (depending on who shows up to 'play' the theremin), and now they sound like a souped-up hot rod bursting free of the limits of the garage and hightailing it to the nearest surf beach. 
