Well-made, earnest, and entirely listenable melodic street punk from Boston. Like watered down whiskey, the record is rough around the edges and smooth going down. But here’s the deal: if you’re like me you don’t want water in your whiskey and you don’t want your punk to go down smooth. You want it to knock you on your ass. There is no ass knocking here. I kept waiting for it, like the album title told me, but the ass-knocking never came. It just made me sad. Now melodic doesn’t always mean mellow, but here it does. Big time. It might even mean soft. Maybe I’d like it more if it didn’t keep reminding me of One Man Army, only their vocals were way better and they actually rocked.
–Jim Ruland (1-2-3-4 Go!)