But as splendid--and I mean that in the least direct way possible--as this stuff is, you can't get past The Problem. The band's aim is just all too clear, from the packaging's photography--someone forgot to tell them you can't include a picture of yourself smoking--to the lyrics, which tell a tale of little black books as deep as Sunny Day Real Estate's evangelical fervor. Don't believe it? I defer to singer Edward Reyes: "Was that the day that I was seen/Kissing your friend on 3rd Street/I never thought that I was mean/How could I have not seen?"
Maybe I'm just being uptight, though. Maybe emo wasn't built to last anyhow--better it be taken over by horny twentysomethings than by horny thirtysomethings, right? And better they make good Police mock-ups than bad AC/DC ones, yeah?
Perhaps, but until I'm convinced that Sunday's Best aren't in it solely for the, uh, fringe benefits, I'll be rocking tonight with an angel on one shoulder and a big fat devil on the other.