Dave Smalley has been setting the standard for sensitive rock/punk/pop/hardcore for a dozen years, and this new record just pushes the genre even further.
They play with such spite and sarcastic venom, they make the glossy sneer of the young ‘uns look like the fashion statement I always suspected it to be.
I don’t know why they want to be Filter, but if they keep not doing what they’re good at, perhaps they’ll succeed in being a second-rate flash-in-the-pan.
There are plenty of clicks, clanks, and chugga-chuggas for all the fist-bang maniacs out there, but the true beauty of this release is in its subtle moments.
I hate Top Ten Lists. I hate (proof) reading them. I hate writing them (so I don’t). I hate laying them out. The only thing I like about them is hating them.