Whatever, in Crazy Pills, Brookyln belches out yet another sweet rock 'n'roll group that strips away all pretense and just dishes out snazzy tunes to dance to. This sort of rock is exactly opposed to longwinded disquisitions on why it's good; it just is.
So crack a beer, comb some pomade through your hair, and go down to the local sleazy rocker bar. Pop a quarter in the jukebox, then get irate with the bartender when Crazy Pills doesn't show up. Then insis, at top volume, that he look this band up HERE, and FUCKING ROCK OUT DOOD. Yeah. I totally impressed a girl enough with this sort of gimmick for her to make out with me last weekend, Scout's honor.