Originally, this article began differently with the line, “Holy shit balls Broloaf's new album Champions On Parade is fucking sick dawg!” This is seriously how I wanted to start my review for this album before my editor read it, looked at me, and made clear that I would not. Well... how else can I say it?
“Seriously peeps Broloaf's new album Champions On Parade is the fucking shit?”
Or how 'bout, “Champions On Parade by Broloaf is epic fucking win bro.”
No matter what culture or beliefs you retain, one listen to Broloaf's new album will have speaking in “bro” vernacular, twisting your ball cap to an awkward half-sideways-half-backwards position, beer-running cases of Bud Light from Circle K and flocking in abundance to Scottsdale nightclubs looking for barely legal or cougar-licious females. It's just that good. And if you're a lady, don't worry, this applies to you too.
Okay so imagine if you took all the best albums The Vandals, Pennywise, Bad Religion and Guttermouth ever did, but threw in even more beer, cocaine and debauchery. Off to a good start. You then add the elements of “bro” culture too: lifted trucks, flashy clothes, manicured looks and hefty sense of entitlement. Only then do you get Champions On Parade. The songs are fast, the lyrics excite and infuriate, and the instruments just punch you in the face with their veracity.
Hearing these songs live is one thing in its own right, but to hear the ideas laid down and then worked over so that they sound perfect is an amazing treat. After three years of writing songs and playing clubs around Arizona, it’s thrilling to finally be able to take the show home recorded and mastered onto disc.
Just last month, Broloaf released Champions On Parade to a packed house at the Yucca. The Bro's of the 'Loaf spared no expense in taking their usually rowdy and ruckus show to the extreme. More performers than ever before joined the band onstage including “Gnarlie” Charlie Sheen. Plus, all sorts of things were strewn over the crowd including 100 dollar bills with Charlie Sheen's face on them, feathers from a pillow ripped open by a “barely legal girl,” confetti out of blast cannons and, of course, plenty of beer from both band and crowd.
Whether a punk or a bro I believe you'll enjoy the shit out of this album. I really cannot tell when the seriousness ends and the parody begins. That might be the point. Broloaf has done something I think no one else has ever done in creating a punk album that caters to anybody and everybody. The lines blur and cross all at the same time. Just try not to sing along with “Jock Juice,” “I'd Fuck Me,” and “Hole N 1.” It's impossible.
With gang screams aplenty, controversial subject matter, and a quality sense of humor, Broloaf's Champions On Parade delivers the goods consistently and thoroughly. I suggest picking this album up immediately and checking out these bros live as soon as you can.
