White Walls

You may be sitting there asking yourself why you're looking at an impressively defaced back side of a TJ MAXX receipt instead of a picture of the band White Walls. That's because it's the most accurate visual representation of music I've ever seen in my life (found on their austere blog). Disregard the content of that bogus advice scribbled there, and instead consider the way the whole thing looks: crumpled paper, off kilter neon pink lettering, and some scrawled, bad advice. Imagine a band that sounds like that. Doesn't that seem like a pretty fucking sweet band?

Check the video out below. Can't see a goddamn thing? Me too. Who cares. Push play, open a new window, google-image-search the word "blank" and listen to this band break shit down. Consider--oh, um--emptiness or something real philosophically heavy and appreciate the cool-kid-destructo vibes that radiate off their music. I'm doing my best to resist that lame music-writer thing by comparing them to other bands (Pissed Jeans? Condominium?), so instead, I'll compare them to an experience: getting detention. You fucked up doing something that was probably awesome (throwing snowballs, telling your teacher to "eat your shorts") and thusly, are punished unjustly. Fortunately, this results in creating an ideal headspace to stew on new and exciting ways to tell everyone to "eat your shorts" via song. White Walls are the voice of your fun, inner-brat that the square world seeks to squeeze out of you. The nerve of those bozos.

Their music is an in the moment thing: visceral, immediate, unpredictable. White Walls encapsulates that glorious teenage mindset where getting in trouble is fun and every possibility of risk is answered with an ill-or-under-judged "YES." Bands too often forget that people love saying "yes," especially for the joyous occasion of when any random occurrence becomes an invitation to a new-rude-zone.