For a band that's got a foothold in New England, Free Pizza has a lot of twang in their veins. The band snake a southern style jangled bashabout that's part country-fried and open skied and part flophouse punk. Though to be fair its probably 100% flophouse punk. The record is holding on by the very last fibers and that recklessness is what makes it work. There aren't pronounced hooks so much as there are cadences between the wire wrung strums, though when they do hit on a bit of catchiness it jumps out like a cat caught in a door as on the standout, "Baby Girl," a love song that feels both sweet and a little dangerous. Discordant, disheveled, call it what you will, Free Pizza feel like the tougher version of The Memories, where East Coast winters shade their songs with snarl n' strife rather than West Coast calm n' palms. The kind of record that you put on first thing in the afternoon, waking up in yesterday's jeans and hunting around for a smoke between the cushions. So, you know, good times.
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