Don't clap, son, this is just a bunch of hollowbodied punks throwing themselves against, well... who really knows? Certainly not their real or imaginary children(see State Line's desperate chorus hooking you in like The Dream lost his job), probably not the girls filtering by(Silver Sun Tree's partner in crime making a mad dash from Oppenheimer's bomb), and most likely not even the boys themselves(just what is that guy from Kommie doing here?). But if anybody really cares who the enemy is, they're all the same: growing up, the government, and bottles of Canada House running low. There are hints of Dinosaur Jr.'s explosion throughout, but Mascis smoked too much weed to hang out with these Adderall addled brains. Make way for the latest bastards of young, the only thing still made in America.
If you see us live, we're punk. If you see us in zeros and ones then we're punks fucking around with electronic music to pass the time until our rock record is done. Sid Vicious taught me how to be a gentleman.