Review Summary: Let it go to waste or go crazy.
Handwriting was a self-described “party math” band, an emo outfit of the twinkle-daddy variety whose dorky lyricism and smooth chemistry endeared them to many a listener over the last three years. The New England quartet’s final release, half of
Scooter Dudes’ ten tracks are under two minutes in length, three of which either fail or barely manage to reach the thirty-second mark. Short and sweet, the record rushes through all its content quickly, and if the Stan Lee album cover and its very title didn’t already clue you in on what you’re in for, this is a band who never took themselves too seriously.
Which is why you may be surprised to hear that
Scooter Dudes is actually really good.
No, seriously. This isn’t an April Fool’s joke.
Scooter Dudes is genuinely great.
The record may breeze by given its minuscule length, but each song is tightly composed to give its own comfortable tension and release. Guitarist/vocalist Joe Byrne’s tappy riffs unwind with grace in a way that never feels too showy or over-complicated. Though he’s clearly the star of this release, the rest of the band certainly holds their own in support, and for a small local emo group, the production quality on
Scooter Dudes is impressive. Byrne’s twinkling riffs don’t overpower his fellow guitarist Devin Branting’s more distorted chords or vice versa, while behind the kit, Conor McMahon lays down some tasteful crisp grooves and bassist Mike Taylor backs up everyone with acceptably simple bass lines. The band’s combined sound is tight and there’s hardly anything to complain about regarding the instrumentation or songwriting.
...the
lyrics, though.
There’s just no way around it; if you can’t get behind some silly lyrics about adolescent melodrama and “songs about stuff,” your potential enjoyment of
Scooter Dudes will shrink dramatically. That said, the band has a stupidly strong knack for taking what could (and sometimes by all means
should) be an absolutely awful line and injecting the perfect amount of self-aware snark and vigor into it, transforming it from predestined mediocrity into a confident declaration. Highlights include “Dogs,” in which the on-the-nose shout of “This is a song about dogs!” as an internal lyric instead of an offhanded introduction feels far more natural than it has any business being. “Video Games” offers gems such as “Don’t correct ‘DeVito’ to ‘debits,’ you ***ing freaking dork,” and the infinitely poetic “*** yeah, what the ***? *** yeah, what the ***!” Hell, even “Friends,” one of those aforementioned under 30-second tracks, mainly consists of some noodles and Byrne exclaiming “I’m watching Friends inside my room. It’s so bad,” only to be met with his bandmate’s rebuttal of “I disagree!”
And you’re going to think I’m crazy, but it’s one of the most triumphant musical moments I’ve ever heard.
Surely I can’t be the only one, though the risk in making an album whose lyrics are nearly completely reliant on humor is that you’ll inevitably turn off a huge chunk of your potential audience. I would have to assume Handwriting knew this and simply didn’t care; such a philosophy would be perfectly at home with songs about staying indoors with your pals, watching Naruto, and chilling at Walmart. And I won’t try to say that everything about
Scooter Dudes works; some sonic diversity would have certainly been welcome, and the band’s most “experimental” moment comes in the form of a cheesy spoken-word snippet on “Robbed,” (and with the rest of this record’s content, that’s saying something). But what you see with Handwriting is ultimately what you get; undeniably sufficient songwriting about adolescent bull*** that may not really matter to anyone else but feels like it means the world to these guys. The mood could be contagious and make you feel young again or just make you revile those who do. I’m not sure there’s an in-between. But whatever your opinion on Handwriting and all that they and
Scooter Dudes stand for, keep in mind the lesson from “Friends;” it’s fine to disagree.
You ***ing freaking dorks.
