The Arrivals have a T-shirt that claims them the future of classic rock; and in the world I live in, they couldn’t be more right. Popular music is so far off any track I care to follow and I can’t help picture robots trying to sell me toothpaste when I hear anything near the Top 40. Who better than an outfit of great-natured misfits who just wanna rock away from cliché in the present tense to fill my quota of rockin’? Much in the same vein of a band like Rocket From The Crypt, punks are lucky to have ‘em because everyone else is too busy buying that toothpaste from Short Circuit, being told that that’s music. The Brokedowns: Bravo, gentlemen. I was expecting you to get annihilated by The Arrivals (we all can be defined by our prejudices) but they more than held up their side of the bargain. Blunter and more direct, they celebrate the Pegboy side of things more than Naked Raygun, and are able to slide in some totally catchy sneaky bits in the pockets. (I hear bits sniped from Big Black, Bhopal Stiffs, and The Effigies, in only three songs, no less.) Multi-depth, multi-decade-grabbing Chicago punk. Hell yeah. I think they’re from Illinois.
–todd (1234 Go!)