When I got the Redwalls' new self-titled CD a few weeks back, it hit the CD player immediately and has lingered nearby ever since. I even pulled out their 2005 release, De Nova, and played them back-to-back for an afternoon of butt-rockin' Britpop with a dollop of Chicago rock chutzpah. When I play the Redwalls, I'm 20 years old and nothing can go wrong.
Except I'm nowhere near 20 any longer and that cussin' you'll hear tonight is me looking for parking spot near Emo's, where the quartet plays with Rooney and the Polyphonic Spree. That's OK. I'll just hum "Modern Diet" and "Little Sister" as I walk the blocks just to watch their shaggy heads bob and their skinny butts shake.
My Chicago buddy Cynthia Plaster Caster loves these boys too, and they were cool (and smart) enough to pay homage at her birthday party in May. I love it when young bands are savvy enough to recognize getting the thumbs-up from old school groupies like Cynthia is as good as a four-star review in whatever the hip publication of the moment is.
Of course, I could be persuaded to drop by Waterloo Records and see their in-store at 5pm today as well. That way I can ask if they named themselves after the Brian Jacques books with all those cute little mice dressed as pirates. If so, their next album should be called Mossflower County.
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