Birmingham's uncontrollably word-spewing indiepop-emo-crossover kids have a new member on cello and a new demo, one with about seven different sections which extends its self-lacerating gaze over doubting yr worth, by way of straight edge versus social drinking. Then it ends with some woah-ohs seeking a punk-pop anthem as opposed to the nervously shifting semi-acoustic night weariness they've accidentally landed in.
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