This album makes me want to dance apeshit around my living room in my ACDC boxers and mismatched argyle socks while drinking my fifth Schlitz before 10am on a Monday morning when I’m supposed to be at work. Chocked full of mangled guitar, singalong anthem vamping, melodic guitar-rock craft, angular arrangements and driving chaos, and with lyrics like: “we went to school cuz we do what we’re told / and we found some jobs to pay off our loans / and we lost our jobs so let your parents know / that you’ll be moving home” Twenty-Five for the Rest of our Lives sounds like the frantic soundtrack to a panicked cling-to-youth phase as the 30’s rush headlong towards you when actually you know deep inside that you are already fucking there and nothing actually came up roses. Part caffeine-soused Pixies, part The Fall (sans the art-punk opaqueness) and 100% energy, the music skirts the edge of pop melodica just enough to rock the pants off the shrewdest of grandmothers and charm the enchanted heart of the most wide-eyed kid. The sound is visceral and uncompromising and you can taste every juicy detail while still rocking out. Look at the freakin’ cover – it’s a silly dude with a cape on the top of building with his arms up like he’s gonna try to fucking fly. Fuck yeah.