Within the first few minutes, Hotel Last Resort makes you see that taking the piss out of commercial success never sounded so good. Sharp warbles show that the angst inside the Femmes isn’t dead, and Gano’s gift can bless another generation of potential guests. The ripple between serious and sarcastic was a success that the owners never strayed from. It’s attempt to challenge commentary cues and comical hues through twangy guitars and warm drum hits give its menus an extra spice and flavour needed to bring it to life.
However, Hotel Last Resort blurred into Hotel Last Supper as the Femmes began to betray the classic cohesion on an album. On the first night, the spontaneity excited me and as my head hit the pillow, I fell into a world of musical bliss. However, the hallways between tracks became hidden corridors. With each twist of a handle, I woke up in a different place, and by night 13, I needed to escape. Although each interior was to die for, from delectable 50s-esque folk-rock to catchy acapella mumble rap, it delved from credible to confusing. It’s all a bit surreal really…
The hotel oozes last resort as it attempts to deliver excitement. But slanted walls, mismatched mosaic floors, and poor shower strength make it all feel too poor quality to be a sturdy release.
P.s. what the fuck is that album cover, did they seriously make an album cover on Word?
Haiku Review:
Twist the handle slow,
Where will the femmes take you now?
Wait, where the fuck’s this?
