Curse Words (Washington, DC) writes catchy, upbeat pop punk for the teenagers of a Martian colony that doesn’t yet exist. Imagine you are an angsty youth growing up in the residential space station orbiting a small moon colony. This is your Green Day. If you think you’ll be angry at “the man” far into the future and you find a healthy chorus of “woahs” irresistible, Intergalactic Exxon Valdez is the record for you.
You’ll find the pop punk mainstay topics you’ve come to love, but with a futuristic space twist. “Mission Control” trades the beat-up old car for a spaceship cracking under pressure. We’ve got plenty of infectious references to our friends in “All My Friends Are Mutants” and in Airlock the four-piece offers you the penultimate hometown diss in “Vacuums suck more than anything sucks on earth.” These are the kinds of songs where by the end of the song you’re already singing along even on your first listen.
I caught Curse Words in June at Braceface house, a punk house, in Laurel, Md. Braceface house is the home of another band, Braceface, who invite friends to share in the mutual love of punk in the (present day) suburbs.