| The Cells have balance. They know what pop
should be -- smart, never too sappy, always loud. Lest their rock topple under its own
weight, they fortify it with tons of hooks, and between the sandpaper guitars and
bittersweet harmonies, they locate perfection. It's a miracle these guys aren't nationwide
already - not one song on their debut falters, it's entirely
sing-along-to-on-your-car-radio-ready - but in the best sense of the phrase. Because The
Cells sound better than 99% of the new bands you'll hear on the radio, not to mention some
of the ones you never will. Thankfully, they're just short of over-produced, the songs are
short, and the lyrics are intelligent and funny, but not overbearing -- and never in
comedy rock territory. At various points it appears that songwriter Cory Hance is vaguely
addressing the state of the modern world. Dreary imagery such as nuclear war, global
complications, radiation, and acid rain are snuk into seemingly upbeat, bratty songs. The
lyrical thread running through We Can Replace You suggests a get it while you can /
get in the van / you only live once / you could die tomorrow attitude that is apropos in
our toxic, violent world. You wouldn't call The Cells a "political" band but
it's nice to know they can take the personal focus of pop and contextualize it a bit more
than, say, all those angry young white guys who like act like whiny victims and take out
their frustrations (about mere bad parenting, no less) over the airwaves these days. In
this vein, "All Be Happy" is strongest: beneath its harmless veneer is a
critique of consumerism and what it takes to be "happy" as the protagonist waits
in vain for this illusive goal. In the relationship category, "Stupid Guy" wins,
hands down, for catchiness. Not to imply that The Cells are anachronistic, but a few years
ago they would've been snatched up in the great Chicago Indie Rock Feeding Frenzy of the
early-mid 90s (well, bass player Rick Ness was caught up on Polydor with his band Fig Dish
for two albums). Still, their just right combination of smart/nerdy, rock and roll, and
bubblegum is pure 2002 anyway, because there's bliss in this near-nihilistic bashing,
exactly what pop should be in this utopian dream: The Cells, alongside Supersonic
Storybook-era Urge Overkill, Cheap Trick, Local H, Weezer... you get the idea. If the
masses don't want it, we'll keep it to ourselves.
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