For mid-90's gloss-punk, competent and consistent: catchiness is all too effortless and there's no need to rely on the singles. When ska comes 'round it's congenial and complementary, and they even throw in a thrashin' L.A.-grouser/bandname-dropper/fuck-tallier. True to genre-era customs, some infantilism pervades, but has the decency to mostly lie dormant till the filler-ish second half -- a shower is lamented, a prank call is made, a cat gets cussed out -- yet somehow, someway, considerable highlight "Mable" has the power to persevere through a faux-English-accent "she's the bomb" hook (the last of which is actually followed by an explosion) and a package comparison (tube of cookie dough vs. small pencil with broken lead).
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