The Crush

Here is Where I Cross My Fingers (Adeline)
by Scott Hefflon

Adeline enters the lucrative and often laughable world of emo-punk, but they do so with a band from Minneapolis, so they won’t get slapped. The Crush, as their name implies, are heartfelt youngsters who might have tousled hair, but no California tans, cuz Minneapolis is cold and rugged, from what I understand. Kinda rough vocals (no whining), “rockin’ out” guitars (chugging, dramatic breakdowns, but usually dirty sounding enough to compensate for the noodly shit that make me think of the large, open spaces where I’d much rather be than an emo show), and casual, mid-tempo paces perfect for Fall walks kicking leaves or lonely, late-night walks home after not getting laid. Again. They’re actually pretty guitar-oriented powerpop with a rough edge, like maybe Hüsker Dü, and the bio namedrops Jawbreaker and The Replacements.

As is often the case with a young band, the 40 minutes presented here is about 10 too many, the band essentially writing three songs and then providing variations on the same few themes. People who love this band probably think this is just right, and thank God for devoted fans. Oh, there’s a fourth song, the sparse, strummy, drum-machiney “3/4” which falters and whines about “it’s the way her words take shape” and all that hoaky shit. The song blows. But they’re forgiven cuz there’s a song later that’s so good, I looked to see if it’s a cover, and it is. By a band called Lifter Puller, who I have a passing recollection of vaguely not hating too much. Turns out they were from Minneapolis but moved to Boston. Turns out they also wrote a song I really like (when covered by someone else) called “Mission Viejo.” Of course, following that highlight is the second low point, some cliché piece of shit called “And for You, I’m Dying Now” which quotes “more than a feeling” and “more than words” one after the other as if to test their audience’s gag reflex. (Boston and Extreme were from Boston too, but try not to hold that against us, huh?) The song is one big breakdown, has vocals in the chorus doubled by a good screamy voice that Glassjaw fans will undoubtably like. But another Boston band, The Sheila Divine, howls just as well, so suck their dicks and fuck Glassjaw until they learn to write better songs and scream the right notes, lazy bastards. OK, so cheesy title and bad start aside, the song drones nicely by the end (one big Ataris breakdown) with lots of cymbal crashing and other drama. Minneapolis punk good.
(5337 College Ave. #318 Oakland, CA 94618)