One of the more criminally overlooked bands of the past few years, Chicago trio Baby Teeth have slowly but surely clawed their way to cult status, partially due to their involvement with media magnate Bobby Conn, but more than anything, it’s their intoxicating brand of glam-cum-soft-rock that’s won them friends and foe alike. While their sound is difficult to pin down, it’s safe to say they are a product of both the times (fucked-up insularity dipped in war-and-booze weary sentiment) and their environment (a raggedy mix of white-collar bravado topped off with seamless blue-collared execution), a trait that ties them into the legacy of great Windy City acts like Chicago, the Sea & Cake, Styx and the aforementioned Mr. Conn.

As its title partially suggests, The Simp is filled with tales of unfortunate saps and broken lovers, yet it’s difficult to feel too sorry for them, as their forlorn misery is dusted with stardust glamour and delivered with a pomp sincerity that’s too overwrought to possibly be fake. Lead singer Abraham Levitan (a.k.a. Pearly Sweets) is lovably camp throughout, prattling on about Russian ballet impresarios one minute (“Diaghalev was Right”) and doing his best dustbowl Lou Reed impression the next (“Taste the Wine”), all the while infusing his songs with a dramatic flair that any cracked actor would be proud to call their own. Elsewhere, you can almost see Levitan leaning over the bar, red-faced and pointing with drink in hand during “Prove it on the Stage”, while the elegant “The Birds are Crying” is sumptuous and sullen in equal measure, like to Leonard Cohen out for a week on the tiles with Freddie Mercury and Sebastian Bach.

Occasionally, it’s difficult to discern where the campness ends and the sincerity begins – “God Girlfriend” blurs the line between the two to that point that it’s no longer visible to the human eye – but while it’s not always possible to tell if they’re serious or not, The Simp remains an alarmingly upbeat and nearly immaculate pop tour-de-force in a world besieged with pissing, moaning and an absolute dearth of showmanship. – Jason Jackowiak (2007, The Daily Copper)