The Hung Ups is hanging up its hat. After a fistful of primarily self-released albums this is the last dose of snotty pop-punk that the guys from Salt Lake City will grace us with. There is nothing remotely new here with cues, both musical and lyrical, being taken from many of the illustrious forefathers from that genre—Ramones, The Queers, Screeching Weasel etc.—but it’s done with an infectious enthusiasm that makes me happy and beyond that I don’t really care. There’s nothing glossy sounding about this album which is a plus point in an age when technology rules so I doff my cap to these youngsters for eschewing a crystal clear production in favor of something a bit more pleasing on the ear. Au revoir The Hung Ups, you did yourself proud.
–Rich Cocksedge (Self-released)