“No, but it’s good.” That’s usually how I finish telling people what the Hudson Falcons sound like. I usually say, “It’s street punk with a Bruce Springsteen influence.” Then, I look at a face (it doesn’t matter which face) twisting into a wince, and I say, “No, but it’s good.” I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t like the Boss one bit, and sometimes I chuckle to myself when I see HF guitarists Mark Linsky and Chris Lynn pulling their best E Street Band pose, but you can’t fuck with the songs. They’re catchy, rocking working class anthems. And unlike the scores of guys who’ve never held a job singing songs about the working class, for whatever reason, I believe it when I hear it from the Hudson Falcons. It’s like when someone injures himself, you can hear it in his scream. He may have been screaming all day about shit and you didn’t pay attention at all, but when someone screams out of real pain, you recognize that pitch in his scream. The Hudson Falcons have that pitch to their screams. But it’s good. Oh, except for the ballad. No punk rock band should ever do a ballad ever. It sucks.