The Lashes: Wheres the Cobrasnake when you need
Oh, you Lashes, you make me wanna hate you so! You're six scruffy, skinny, shaggy-haired, Strokesian Seattleites fronted by a singer rarely seen without at least four or five belts (hipster white, studded black, military web, bullet, etc.) around his waist. Your keyboard-dappled, three-chord songs cherry-pick from decades of spiky power-pop Cheap Trick, the Cars, the Ramones, Weezer, Fountains of Wayne and you can be as radio-friendly-retro as the Killers. Plus, you even have the bags to swipe an entire refrain from Morrissey ("Please, please, please let me get what I want") and shove it into a brand-new song ("Please, Please, Please")! And yet, every time I hear your contagious hooks, your harmonies and huzzah, I can't help but feel like you're one of the most fun, likeable bands around. Damn you, Lashes!