YOUR YOUTH is a few kids with killer choruses in their heads and breezy harmonies in their back pockets, eternally ready to plug in and crush an amp with their bare melodies. Loud pop.
They buzz along in a galaxy of fuzzed-out guitars, with the windows rolled down at all times. But there’s a streak of snarl shot through their tales of blue sky and love bites. Theirs is a colorful world of dazzling indifference, vague regrets, and flatlining dreams, sung with a contradictory and abstract earnestness–they’re hung up on nothing at all and everything possible. They’re at their brightest when they stay up all night but they know they can’t do it forever. It’s the sound of Weezer and Wipers fighting over who gets to drive the girl home at the end of that night.
They’re lo-fi gone hi-fi, a little too slick for their own good but not afraid to shine. They’ll laugh at you while dancing with you, and then whisper “I love you” just to make you feel better. But for a moment, they’ll really mean it.