In my little mind, there’s two Numbers. The Numbers I can’t get enough of who play scorchers like “Downtown Girls” and “Me, My Enemy, and I” and The Numbers who play “Mechanics of Wealth,” who I wish would end their songs sooner. The faster they go, the better I like ‘em, because when they lose their inertia, I always start to think about – of all fucking things – Pink Floyd and I don’t really like any band that makes me think of huge, pink, pig balloons, when all I want to think about it whiskey, music that pins my ears back, and not dropping off a balcony before the headlining band starts playing. I’m a simple guy with simple tastes. When The Numbers rage, they’re near the top of the OC’s beach invasion – complete throats of snot, with so much bad attitude to break off and spear the audience with, and helping create the sound that will come help to define how punk’s going to be referred to in the next twenty years. But then they slow down more and more and I find myself heading for the bar. I’ll give ‘em the benefit of the doubt and wait ‘em out. Two excellent songs on here, one not so good.