It’s like a calculus equation. Scratch that. It’s like simple math. (DIY, non-Warped, non-hair product) pure strain pop punk = girls + bubblegum + varying degrees of Ramones +/- Beach Boys. Some recurring variables have popped up in the ‘00s. Sickness, snot, more drugs. (And the Queers/Screeching Weasel abacuses.) At the top of the ledger are the considerable likes of The Copyrights, and on the edges (incorporating more than just a pure strain, which, history shows, will make them more resistant) are Off With Their Heads, Dear Landlord, Banner Pilot, and The Chinese Telephones. The Dopamines know the confining walls of pop punk well, and instead of contentedly stuffing the listener into a small box, tinkering with thread-bare riffs, and clumsily figuring how the male end of one cliché fits slides into the female end, they sound like they’re having the times of their lives, playing to a sweaty basement of wigging-out friends. That energy and the precision how they play make this record a fun, strong listen.
–todd (It's Alive)