Youth is a precious commodity. I’m sorry, not a commodity. It’s not something you can really barter or buy, contrary to reams upon reams of glossy magazines and make up companies whose existence is predicated on a belief to the contrary.
Age is beyond appearance. It’s even beyond your feelings; you might be young at heart but that carries the implication that a whole lotta you ain’t. No, it’s the mind that makes us young. During our formative years, we simply don’t have a particularly deep well of experience to draw from. More importantly, our brains simply aren’t that developed. At that precarious age, caught teetering on the precipice between our impending adulthood and having just shaken off the bonds of our salad days, most people simply don’t have the capacity for maturity. This lasts for a lot longer than one would figure, with people not realizing full mental maturity (in the physical sense) until their mid twenties. After that point, those that act childish are just that; acting.
I’ll get to the point. Fine Times aren’t role-playing with their rollicking, sweet single Hey Judas. This isn’t a lark back through their wilder years but a celebration of what they are – a epoch of good times and bad instincts. Jammed out major key harmonies coupled with some glistening synths keep this thing bubbling along while vocalist Matthew Moldwan sings paeans to being young and dumb.
You and me, deviants?
Possibly.
Talk me up, talk me up.
Cop a feel.
You and me,
We double-cross instinctively, but we don’t stop here.
Don’t stop it here.”
The chug-chug guitars harkens back to pop-punk, a genre that has engendered more anthems for the “I’ll need to see an ID” set. But Fine Times deftly mix their animated compositions with some adult sensibilities. The rhythms have more in common with the pop of the 60s and 70s than anything from today and the “Woah Woah”s have crossover generational appeal.
This is carrying me a couple of places. Forward, to somewhere sunny; backward, to my younger years; and to the all too present, to some less than admirable decisions. Ah well, good art is supposed to be complicated, right?