Sharp guitars outstretch from the past.
Holding a hypodermic of hypnotic elixir, the sound reaches over my shoulders and jabs its silver pistil prick into the fleshy underside of my jaw. It injects a numbing reminder of how beautiful the past is when viewed through the gauze and fog of nostalgia. And it's hummable. Covers of tracks made famous by Frank Sinatra, R.E.M., the Buzzcocks, and the Big Boys avoid rote rehashing and melt wonderfully into the Jawbox mold.