Clothes might make the man. But the band? Not so much. If you believe the press bumpf about this shaggy North Carolina sextet, they come by their naughty name honestly — supposedly it’s the result of throwing raucous house-party gigs where both band and celebrants ended up rocking their birthday suits. Whatever the truth, one thing is certain: They know how to throw down. And they aren’t scared of wearing their eclectic influences on their sleeves. Though truth be told, they’d need some long-ass sleeves to hold them all: Their superb self-titled debut is a gloriously infectious mish-mash of inspired musical mixing and matching. Right off the hop, you can’t miss the mid-tempo garage-rock pump ’n’ thump of The Velvet Underground and solo Lou Reed. Then there’s the whip-smart pop of The Kinks and Jonathan Richman, along with the shoulder-chip attitude and motor-mouthed bray of Dylan at his boho peak. And let’s not forget the two-finger Tex-Mex organ lines of ? & the Mysterians, the wiry guitar spindles of Television, the psychedelic swirl of countless California acid testers, and even enough guitar twang to supply a slate of surf and alt-country combos. Best of all, you’ve got an all-killer, no-filler lineup of wild ’n’ woolly workouts that tackle topics from the political (the inevitability of war and the legend of Che Guevara) to the personal (trying to get your records back from your ex and dealing with buzzkills who tell you to get a real job). With all that to wrap around their streetcorner delivery, conversational wit and straightahead melodies, these guys don’t need no stinkin’ outfits. Nor do you. Strip down, punch play and let it all hang out.
