If you liked their past albums, you’ll be just as pleased with this one. It’s indie rock with the usual fuzz tone guitars, shifting tempos, and buildups.
Too pop to be trip, too R’n’B to be Poe, too slick to be Björk, not massive enough to be an attack. It really doesn’t add up to much. Elevator electro?
The sensitive pop sounds like Jellyfish, the trippy orchestrated rock sounds like Earth 18, and they incorporate Beatles and Nirvana cohesively like Birdbrain.
Not since C&C Music Factory or Lords of Acid have I been swayed by a beatbox thump, rock-hard guitar, and a sassy female vocalist oozing sexual attitude.
No faux British accent, no green hair, and no teen angst found here. Just 14 punchy rave-ups, including a blistering cover of Paul McCartney and Wings’ “Jet.”
Mediocre oh-so trendy pop punk dreck by three L.A. musicians, who, five years ago, would’ve been a lipstick and spandex faux metal scam called Wyld Hairdeux.