By Steve Weinstein
By Bryan Bierman
By Lindsey Rhoades
By Chaz Kangas
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Jena Ardell
By Jesse Sendejas Jr.
By Katherine Turman
As someone donning the garb of an American cretinat one point, I think, rhyming "shit" with itselfFrankee is a modern, better John "Dr. Dirty" Valby singing "Bang Bang LuLu." Valby never learned to coo and swear to soft r&b with "Fuck" in the title and was sometimes mistaken for a musical humorist, faults that would only dilute Frankee's apparent image as a high-button crack whore paid off with a recording contract.
But New Found Glory's Catalyst takes the prize because it mixes C-in-English self-absorption with sentiment fit for a wounded Hallmark card. Frankee's just really angry and dumb, like a fire ant that's had its dirt pile kicked over, while the New Found Glory fellows are pretending to be sensitive humans when they're just insects tooones with saccharine in their mouths, instead of formic acid.
The Good, the Bad, the Ugly
Every other New Found song sounds like it's about the shock of being lied to by girls or how one's life is overa downhill tromp into the muck of loud-soft-loud-soft punk rock despair. All because you failed to satisfy your wretched, selfish girlfriend, who is a "catalyst." A catalyst for what? The transmutation of gold into lead? No, the peddling of young loserhood as emo-shtick.
New Found Glory would lose an arm-wrestling match with Josie of the Pussycats, they play weenie roasts, and I have no idea what manner of 98-pound idiot is this band's audience. Thin teenage boys enjoying the last three years of high school before involuntary shipment to Camp Pendleton?
New Found Glory play the Vans Warped Tour on Randalls Island August 7.