Frozen Teens aren’t one thing. Fancy people piss themselves over the complexities of wine. (Tastes like: “Raspberries, oak, chocolate, and NPR’s high rotation music.” No thanks. I’ll take the spacebag that tastes like: bad decisions, headaches, forgetting, bruises, and armpits.) Fancy people can fuck themselves. But I like it when punk bands are pulling from several parts of the musical spectrum and they stitch the bubbles together. I think this band’s pretty young, but they’re wizened. Musically, the holes in their shirts weren’t there when they bought them. Sure, I’ve heard little bits of Frozen Teens before in the Replacements, Drunken Boat, and Bent Outta Shape, but it’s more of a spirit, a general sense of journey than, “Whoah, that sounds a lot like ‘Alex Chilton’ or ‘Rudes and Cheaps.’” It’s not like that. There’s a bittersweet, smoke-like quality that surrounds Frozen Teens. You put your music pants on in the morning, and sure as shit, you can smell the Frozen Teens songs all around you, as real as you’d been sitting next to a campfire. It’s this fluidity, this happy sadness that I take away from Frozen Teens and I both like and appreciate it. It’s one of those things I don’t want over-explained, over-precious-ized. It’s just really, really good music, you know?
–todd (Mauled By Tigers / Do Ya Hear We)