Zebrahead “Call Your Friends”

“Give me an f. Give me a u. Give me c-k-y-o-u. Fuck You!” It’s in quotes because those are actually some of the opening lyrics from Zebrahead’s new album Call Your Friends, but I have no problem using that as a personal proclamation for anyone that doesn’t like this album. Sure, it’s completely the same as every other Zebrahead album, ever. For the record, there are nine other albums. Each and every one of them–I listened to them all again so you wouldn’t have to–also happens to sound like just about every other album from the pop-punk genre that penned theme songs and anthems for suburban white kids, teen anthems and dudes named Scotty.

Call Your Friends isn’t going to win any music awards. Call Your Friends Zebrahead will never end up on Pitchfork. Everyone that grew up on pop-punk is too old to “mosh,” has a day job and generally doesn’t drink beer out of red Solo cups. But Zebrahead will continuously tour Japan, Europe and every place that ISN’T the United States because the language barrier is either so severe they just don’t give a fuck and/or they have better taste in music than people in the US. The point is, Zebrahead will keep selling out shows all over the world because people like yours truly just can’t let go of shit like this:

Taking into account my inordinate love of Zebrahead, I know it’s a guilty pleasure. Some dudes love fat chicks, or getting peed on or Spice Girls. It’s all shit you indulge in, but generally don’t tell your friends about. [Ed. Note: Oops.] I don’t care. I love pop-punk, and I love Zebrahead.

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