The Arrivals

Peel off your image and open your ears -- this thesis on what it means to be an unbreakable band of brothers with a common passion to be whatever the fuck they want to be is the real thing. And if you know anything about what rock 'n' roll should be and should always have been, it won't take long for you to understand: Exsenator Orange, THE ARRIVALS' sophomore album that is anything but sophomoric, is the ultimately refined essence of pure and untainted South Side Chicago ROCK.

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Peel off your image and open your ears -- this thesis on what it means to be an unbreakable band of brothers with a common passion to be whatever the fuck they want to be is the real thing. And if you know anything about what rock 'n' roll should be and should always have been, it won't take long for you to understand: Exsenator Orange, THE ARRIVALS' sophomore album that is anything but sophomoric, is the ultimately refined essence of pure and untainted South Side Chicago ROCK.

From the rabble who erupted onto Chicago's formidable punk rock scene with Goodbye New World comes Exsenator Orange, a succinct statement of the unpresumptuously genuine DIY ethic this no-nonsense band seems to have been born to boast. Often compared to Naked Raygun and Pegboy, The Arrivals have thus put forth a record whose quality now warrants individual praise rather than mere comparison. Melodically mature, vocally veracious, and thematically tantalizing, Exsenator Orange is the anxiously anticipated soundtrack to its progenitors' deservedly unapologetic pride and glory. Topically ranging from the regrettable sexual precocity of an insecure teenaged girl to taking pride in what you are and not what you ought to be, Exsenator Orange is The Arrivals' emotive gift to this generation.

Nothing about this record is short of excellent. Backed by vigorous and impressively precise drumming, firm basslines, and solid yet delicate melodies, Isaac Thotz and Dave Merriman belt out a series of tunes that will kick your ass right out of your lazy boy without sacrificing their magnificent sonority. Lyrics such as "So I won't apologize for lacking glory / I will ring my copper bell and not be sorry" showcase the band's in-your-face, love-us-or-fuck-off attitude that commands the utmost respect from any and all audiences. With Goodbye New World, The Arrivals established themselves as South Side Chicago's rising heroes; with Exsenator Orange, they've transcended the boundaries of geographical "scenesterism."

So quit whining about how rock'n'roll died with Sid Vicious, forget about the dogmatic superlativity of London Calling, and toss your jaded-with-today's-music attitude out the window with your dusty old boots and braces that probably cost more than your Buick -- pick up Exsenator Orange and thank your lucky stars punk rock has finally birthed this diamond in the rough. What you'll have before you is a collection of anthemic tunes that sum up thirty years of subcultural outcast and rejection in under thirty minutes. The Arrivals are rock 'n' roll down to their bones, and they bring it, anxious and ready, Chicago style.