There are three letters in “pop,” four chords in punk, and a million literal “garage” bands that have tried to perfect the sound that comes so effortlessly from The Thermals. Does that sweeten their newest album, “Personal Life?”
It might be the only thing they’ve got going for them.
It’s been suggested that by saying less you’re actually saying more (and the phrase undoubtedly fits when applied to Hutch Harris’s succinct, yet provocative observations). But hasn’t this rebel-yell of a scene run out of breath yet?
Undoubtedly, The Thermals are much more authentic than some of their peers. They helped define their era with artists on labels like Subpop in 2002, a time just after Green Day’s beginning-of-the-end release “Warning” and the debut of candy-rockers like Simple Plan. Over their entire discography, The Thermals never changed their sound or sold out.
The problem is that Punk is a genre where “growing up” is completely unacceptable. The archetypal punk song, born of angst-ridden paranoia, is designed to enrage testosterone levels, induce moshing, and tends to be fairly simple to compose. Time takes its toll and it comes as no surprise that after five studio albums, The Thermals, much like their genre, are running out of new ideas.
