Short and sweet. Three chords, the truth and some bruised ribs. Quick and to the point. A half-hour-ish blast of perfectly pesky pop songs that bring some respect back to the phrase "pop-punk". Lessons learned at the feet of Billy Childish, Graham Coxon, early Supergrass and The Jam absorbed, then scribbled on in the margins and turned into supersonic paper airplanes and spitballs.
And why? Are they really that angry? Nah, just because they can. Because it's fun. Because long songs are boring. Because we all could be skateboarding right now. Because it's only rock n' roll, and we like it and they love it—so much so that they seal it with a K.I.S.S. Man hug!