Totally loathsome, poisonous stuff, but quite addictive.
This record is pure evil. It takes the soaring zeal of melodic hardcore and corrupts it into power pop. It’s recorded by a band that steals [a]Rocket From The Crypt[/a]’s Las Vegas clothes and makes them naff. It features a singer called Ajay Popoff (fact) who yodels like a castrated ox about a bad night out, attempting to persuade his unsurprisingly absent girlfriend to mother him because he is Very Sorry Indeed. Utterly poisonous, post-West Coast punk ([a]Green Day[/a] are personally responsible here) sunshine-lobotomised nonsense, then, like Smash Mouth and those other interchangeable sports rock guybands (like boybands but with wallet chains) whose names, quite proudly, escape me. Totally loathsome, poisonous stuff, but quite addictive. OK, so
not technically ‘good’ so much as monstrously effective. Oh, all right then: it’s a killer.