For me, teen-punk went out with bongs and wearing pavement-sweeping skate jeans. But Philadelphia trio Beach Slang are nostalgic for their lost years – the 80s era of collegiate bands like Hüsker Dü and the Replacements – while throwing its air-punching soundtrack forward to the future. You won’t find knob gags here: these are songs that distill frustration, alienation, youthful abandon and rebellion into something more thoughtful, informed by wiry post-punk (Art Damage), distortion-rich guitar melodies and widescreen atmosphere (Hot Tramps, The Perfect High). They are anthemic and wild, a joyful rawness underpinned by frontman James Alex’s scratchy growl, which sounds as if it’s being transmitted from a concrete submarine base. And despite titles such as Wasted Daze of Youth and Young Hearts, Beach Slang never feel forced or worthy. May these be loud bashes for those about to start a new term everywhere.
