Pony Pants, not Horsie Slacks or Equine Trousers

Pony Pants. The first time I heard that name I practically guffawed myself off my seat.

But then, I heard their music. The stuff these Philly kids pump out via Badmaster Records is what indie dance nights were made for, driving the most stoic of the cross-armed masses into a freaky, spaz-and-grind dance frenzy. The comparisons of Emily J.K.’s vox to those of Le Tigre are apt. And the crunked up electro guitar work is just as grimy as those from the now-defunct Death From Above 1979.

And call it sinful, but I think their recorded material is much more enjoyable than our hometown boy Dan Deacon’s.

Do yourself a favor. Before the drudgery of the work-week begins, head out to the Talking Head this Sunday, and spaz the fuck out. You won’t be the only one, I can personally guarantee you that.
Photo credit Molly Landergan

Pony Pants – Haircutz


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