This Philly fourpiece
wear their indie rock and pop-punk influences on their sleeves (or
at least their press release), and while they've got spirit on
their side, their songs lack longevity. The trouble is that they
short-sightedly put energy ahead of song writing. A main offender is
"It's Just Whiskey, Mama," which is all energy and no hooks,
continuing on for vastly too long given its dearth of content. Better results
are seen on saxophone-ornamented "Love Crack" and ska-tinged "I
Think I Have a Tumor," but they are still burdened by a lack of
effective melody. Taken together, The National Rifle is like
the prototypical party band: they're enthusiastic and indecorous
enough for a good ol' barn-hop, but when you bring home their
self-released CD, the magic quickly runs dry. Sorry, dudes.
