Copyrights: These-a-days, pop punk often starts off with three fingers down my throat. It takes quite a bit for my gag reflexes to not instantly kick in. I’ve got to hand it to Copyrights. They come swinging with two daggery melodies, ears-pinned-backed guitars, and closely-shorn songs. Nice. Makes me think of leather jackets, but not worn by the Fonz or meatbrains. Brokedowns: Although I was alive and occasionally being taken to the movies when Flashdance came out, I just recently saw it for the first time a couple months back. I imagine The Brokedowns, collectively, as the lead lady welder. Secretly, they aspired to be a ballet dancer who honed their craft doing avant-art exotic dancing in an indifferent steel mill town. (The lead lady in Flashdance pulls this kabuki strobe light Dieter number at a strip club—with all her clothes on—and the rough-handed patrons go wild, enough so that Fear’s Lee Ving tries to steal her away to his naughtier club. But she has higher, cultured aspirations.) This is a world I want to live in because it makes absolutely no sense on almost any level, but it’s entertaining as shit. The Brokedowns are both strong and fair. Smart and funny. Red roses and reluctant nudity. They’re not all about the arched-back bucket scene. Their welds hold true. Apply this to modern DIY Midwest punk music and any movie from the ‘80s (Top Gun, Some Kind of Wonderful, Better Off Dead) to arrive at your own conclusions. Or, fuck it if that’s a little too straining: Karl Marx mixing it up with the Marx Brothers.
–todd (No Idea)