Every so often some asswipe spouts off about punk being dead and I can see why someone might say that; I have myself stacks of “punk” CDs and records that are deserving of shallow graves along with my old G.I. Joes in my neighbor’s backyard. But, of course, it isn’t that raw, unbridled force called “punk” that’s died. There’s too much vital music out there still kicking down doors and peeing on people’s lunches. What’s dead is the clumsy label “punk” and the definitions that go with it. Thankfully, bands like Career Suicide are around to show how clownishly ill-fitting most of those labels are—and they do it in a way that is totally unpretentious and very convincing. And catchy too. I’m tempted to label them a hardcore band, but the more I listen to this record, the more I start to think I’m listening to one of those late ‘70s /early ‘80s West Coast bands that used to play at the Masque—like the Skulls or the Dickies. But then again they also sound to me a little bit like Minor Threat but with a few shovelfuls of snot hanging off them in all the right places. It doesn’t matter how anyone tries to label these guys, what matters is that they continue on in their own bold way, kicking in doors and peeing on people’s lunches. This is one band you simply can’t go wrong with.