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
The Guy's got a point, though: What's with all this "they make me dance, so fuck all if they're unoriginal" shit? When did "dance band" become the "I can say 'nigger' cuz I'm black" people's court get-out-of-jail-free card? The Bravery go one step further even, telling NME, "The point of rock 'n' roll in the first place was dance music." So, at the risk of not "getting" the Bravery and now rock 'n' roll itself, everyone best keep their quips quietespecially the one how Endicott, who jumps skin from Julian Casablancas to Robert Smith to the guy from the Killers in just three tracks, has less charisma than a mustard plug.
Instead, let's mouth along when our very own Luke Skawalker burps, "I don't see no ring on these fingers," and let's shake out our naked hands so the girl in the corner knows we party extra hard. Let's buy Ferraris we can't afford and speed down I-95, so when "No Brakes" comes on the radio we can nudge each other, snort some more amoxicillin, and unironically put the accelerator pedal to the floor. Most importantly, let's not ask the Bravery to justify any artistic decisionsthere are none. These songs have practical applications (make whitey dance), years of research behind them (whitey likes synth and steady beats), and quantifiable results (whitey's dancing). Right, like we can disprove the scientific method!
So here we are, a bunch of assholes riding the industry's Next Big Sybian, obeying other people's hips because we fear being blacklisted stiffs and dad-rockers. The struggle is finished. We love Big Bravery. And tomorrow morning, when we wake up in a pool of mascara and Red Bull, let's call Mom and tell her how much fun we're having.
The Bravery play the Bowery Ballroom April 17 and 18.