This generation’s emo is crap. They have like Red Jumpsuit this and Three Times Dope that. It’s all garbage sung by pretty-boy whiners. Where are the lead singers with lisps and songs about the Jersey Shore and stuff? Here they are, you little punk-asses. Granted, TPR has already turned seriously towards the commercial spectrum with this album, but I can’t help loving these hook-filled tunes of partying and loving and leaving and band members and whatnot. Honestly, the songs are kind of nonsensical, but belted out with such pop abandon, that I don’t give two craps about it. There’s just something life-affirming about these tunes that doesn’t come with the Sorrow Parade or Wednesday’s Baby, or whatever these latest bands are called. I mean The Promise Ring have lyrics like “You dropped a bomb on my bad day” for god’s sake! That shit is brilliant. The brilliance is short, unfortunately, but leaves that nice, minty flavor in your mouth as it fades into the crapfest that TPR becomes with its very next output.
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