Waste not your paper towels

The Party of Helicopters is begging you to believe in nothing. A string of empty phrases backed by pretty noise, these male debutantes who fancy themselves punk purists only float their vocals on high-pitched waves that barely keep the moderately-tempoed distortion rock moving. I'm sure the Partiers are trying to move beyond the cuteness of adolescent party songs about mustaches and passing out on floors, but I also fear they all have those shaggy emo haircuts. When you can attach a haircut and beat up too-dark jean jacket to a sound, all hope is hopeless. This isn't even depressing in the it's-too-mediocre-I-have-higher-expectations-way -- it's just there, taking up space, for no reason. Then the Partiers string all the lyrics together in some crackpot stylish way through tiny fonts with a cover art of minimalist design and you'll just want to drop these kids off a dock somewhere in exasperation. If it were a crime to produce something that means nothing, let the Partiers rot in Rikers. Beyond that, there's nothing about this album to even get worked up about enough to really lay into them. Good luck with the groupies, boys.