Here’s an unassuming debut from four Atlanta guys who seem to have a perfect handle on snappy, melodic songwriting. No kidding, this is the home run, slam dunk, whatever-soccer-metaphor of rough-around-the-edges pop punk. Maybe some of the magic comes from that streak of rugged heartland rock that’s been showing up for years in the scruffier, flannel-shirtier punk bands of the States. In fact, there’s almost an alt-country sensibility to the rolling leads and just-right grit of the vocals. But the heart of this is raw punk rock. Think Iron Chic’s catchy sincerity, and maybe some of The Thermals’ self-aware nerdiness. Seven songs wind down too soon with the coolest (only cool) fucking use of whistling I’ve ever heard from a band. Whoever’s idea was the whistling, high-five. I expect to hear a lot more out of this outfit in the near future. Don’t let me down, dudes!
–Indiana Laub (Muckman, [email protected], muckmanrecords.storenvy.com)