Maybe The River Jesters should call themselves The River JETSTARS and then at least they would have a pun going for them but The River Jesters are too serious for puns. They don’t take their music IN JEST. More like The River SERIOUESERS, amiright?
I actually came into contact with this band which sounds like a bunch of walking penises slapping guitars into one another’s ballsacks through a tweet reply to a more talented Dunedin musician, who will go unnamed:
What got me was NOT ALL MEN and I cackled and cackled and cackled until I had to have another sip of my Really Really Review Wellness Tonic (TM) and then I thought, with a name like the River Jesters, they’ve got to be goofy, right? Like — at best some middle aged dudes from Tauranga making lute-based prog rock, and I can get into that. But no — Saturday Night is more inane than Friday, by no.1 pop goddess Samantha Black. At least Friday is a no-holds barred lyrical JOURNEY through Samantha Black’s own life. I mean “Gotta make my mind up, which seat can I take” is a real QUAGMIRE many of us can relate to, us car-riding citizens of the world. When the singer in The River Jesters wails out “You want me, yeah you need me” it comes off as gross masculine posturing — I dislike this type of lyrical conceit in general. It can perhaps be pulled off by Bo Didley or Nicki Minaj, but not by some young faux-70s ‘rockers’ who sing it guilelessly without a trace of irony. The guitar solos are as rote as they are dull. The whole of The River Jesters output is inane yet deprived of any joy. In the words of DEAN OF ROCK CRITICS Robert Christmas, what is this shit?