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▀█████▓▌ MTD Proudly Presents ▐▓█████▀

[Info]

Artist : Hit The Lights

Album : Summer Bones

Label : Pure Noise

Genre : Rock

Street Date : 2015-03-24

Quality : 276 kbps / 44.1kHz / Joint Stereo

Encoder : Lame 3.98.4 -V0

Size : 55.09 MB

Time : 26:27 min

Url : http://www.hitthelightsmusic.com/

[Tracks]

1. Fucked Up Kids 2:31

2. The Real 2:37

3. Life On The Bottom 2:27

4. Revolutions And Executions 3:06

5. No Filter 2:54

6. Blasphemy, Myself And I 2:40

7. Summer Bones 3:45

8. Keep Your Head 1:29

9. Sitter 2:25

10. Old Friend (Ft. Colin Ross) 2:33

[Notes]

Released in 2012, Invicta saw the Ohio-based emocore unit batten down the

hatches and jettison whatever lo-fi skatepunk detritus was left from its

early days in favor of a more pure, radio-driven pop feel. Summer Bones, the

band's fourth studio long-player and first outing for Pure Noise Records,

effectively seals the deal, offering up an 11-track set of slickly produced,

earworm-heavy, festival-ready singalongs shot through with enough good

old-fashioned punk/hardcore spirit to make the transition easy for

old-schoolers looking for a respite from breakdown town. Similar in tone to

bands like Sleeping with Sirens and the Story So Far, Hit the Lights have no

interest in wallowing in the oft-excavated pit of youthful despair; rather,

they exist in a sort of amped-up, devil-may-care vacuum of

good-times/bad-times soul-searching that leans more heavily toward the

former. Vocalist Nick Thompson's clear-and-concise croon bears only the

tiniest touch of the traditional emo-whininess that can so often turn a

decent song into a chore, and the band can tear things up, especially on the

album's more anthemic numbers (actually, they're all pretty reliably

fervent) like "Fucked Up Kids," "No Filter," "The Real," and the nostalgic

title track, the latter of which flirts with Midwest Americana and provides

the album with its most pop-centric moments. Even at their most sonically

malevolent ("Keep Your Head," "Sitter"), Hit the Lights manage to find a

sugary bridge or chorus, effectively exposing their brief moment of

suffering as an anomaly in an otherwise perfect buzz of a warm Warped Tour

summer afternoon, where the pit is as rowdy and cathartic as it is totally

bloodless.