The Brokedowns – Life Is A Breeze

I am oscillating between the feeling of being inside a pipeline of a tsunami and being smashed around by a bunch of overweight 16-year old dudes in a pit. At a very, VERY small venue. Since I can speak to only one of these experiences (the being pushed around by 16-year olds, not the surfing) I am  leaning towards the latter.

Moving on.

The Brokedowns album Life Is A Breeze is a hoot. It sounds like early The Bronx mixed with one of their melodic cousins. Maybe Fugazi a bit? Rollins Band? Sure. Either way, it makes me sweat and look around at the periphery for some kid to come spiraling into me, legs wobbling, as he leaves the inner circumference of a circle pit.

The Brokedowns make me comfortable in being uncomfortable. They are that not-so-fresh feeling you have after pounding a sixer of Pabst and two shots of Jamo at a show. It isn’t the worst feeling in the world, it is definitely not a feeling of regret. It is a feeling of being beat, and it feels great.

The Brokedowns are the sound of a good drunkenness. They sound like a good time. I wanna put on some Black Flag and bounce around to Henry Rollins, dammit. I wanna puke, I wanna give up the worldly possessions of my stomach for paradise eternal. It is a rare feeling, the peaceful puke, but that is the only way I can explain Life Is A Breeze. I wanna crash onto a long couch with big soft pillows and let the world spin around me for a few minutes. Just listen to the title track “Life Is A Breeze”—“Cause life is a breeze, at least its always for me.” I feel ya, boys. You got bad feelings but they go away soon enough, or at least for a few hours. Just repeat after The Brokedowns: “life is a breeze…”

Life sucks, but man, you can’t let it get you down. That is what I get from this sound. Yell about it, get it out of your system. Life is a breeze after you realize all the bull that is thrown at you on a daily basis.

Life Is A Breeze is an album that keeps kicking. “Cash For Gold” sounds like a louder Minutemen song at its core ( “This Ain’t No Picnic”), a little of Rise Against in their politics as well. Junky sounding guitars, like a rabid rottweiler on “DIY Space Program” and “The End Is Not Near.” “God Hates Math” is eerie because, for a second there, I thought I was listening to a Shins album. Then the Shins were fucking murdered. It was a good day.  

The best summation of this album comes in its closer: “A Child’s Guide To Black Metal.” These are not dark dudes. Naw, these dudes are having massive amounts of fun raising hell. I feel like I just got beat up by the cousin of Direct Hit! Kudos.