The Spinal Tapian response to this unnecessary EP would simply be "electric stink." Alas, I must now waste time and brain coming up with approximately 600 words justifying that sub 1 rating above. Certainly this is more time than the Promise Ring spent writing these four songs. This is not speculation. It takes approximately 0.7 seconds to conceptualize these songs, because they've already been written 0.7 x 10^7 times-- this year.

On the opening title track, Davey Von Bohlen hisses and spits up, "I live on a small street/ With very small shoes/ But in a big house/ With a big wardrobe" over a bassline lifted from the Pixies' "Where is My Mind?" Then-- get this-- a slow C-G power riff comes in! For those unfamiliar with chords, this basic fifth is essentially the progression of just about 78% of all pop songs ever written. This continual dumbing down of rock music must stop. It's insulting that the Promise Ring would even try to pass this off as original songwriting. Right now, 13-year-olds in basements are figuring out the very same song on their own with clumsy prepubescent fingers, thanks to some downloaded Blink 182 tabs. "Strictly Television," the second track, bops along on little more than a C chord! Squirt some absurd poetry on top through the lispy lips of a white guy who couldn't carry a tune in a wheelbarrow and, yay, it's the Promise Ring! Yay!

Mike Patton recently released a CD by the Kids of Widney High on his Ipecac label. This shameless album showcases the songwriting of "special" kids from Widney High. Frighteningly, these children with Down's Syndrome craft better pop than the Promise Ring. In fact, the parallels are remarkable. If I asked you which of the two groups wrote the songs "Pretty Girls," "Doctor Doctor," and "Every Girl's My Girlfriend," which would you say? If you guessed the Promise Ring for any of those, the joke's on the Promise Ring. Even with the crushing guilt of cruel exploitation hovering over my head, I'd listen to the Widney kids before the Promise Ring. I enjoy the better singing.

"American Girl" (see?!) drops back into predicable acoustic balladry as Davey rattles, "American girl/ Queen radio/ Plays hours low/ Fills the spaces we know/ And time is tight/ But not tonight." Why does a band who blatantly yearns for the mainstream with below-basic structures and simple rhyme schemes try to alienate with slop lyrics and wounded pig vocals? Is this their tether to the "underground?" Oh I see, it's art because it's unlistenable. But I don't think doctors on "ER" will be singing this to cancer patients in upcoming episodes. As much as they want to hit rock radio and the soundtracks to Joshua Jackson flicks, the Promise Ring will simply never get past the excruciating vocals. For further spoil, the Pringle boys will not get to savor intended irony as their new song, "Make Me a Mix Tape," will not actually show up on anyone's mix tape in the near future. Ah, who am I kidding? Some kid with Hobbit hair is dubbing it right now for a girl in Delia's garments.

The same fellow will soon take a break from analog romance to scribe some hatemail to me. I have prepared a generic response in anticipation. You may save yourself the effort and paste the following into an e-mail to yourself:

"Anything, anything, is more important than this record. This vitriol and venom comes from severe disappointment, not bitterness. Is this the best independent music has to offer? If indie rock has come to slowed-down, pillowfight pop-punk, punch me out. Attached you will find a list of 457 bands I recommend over this release. If you're such a fan, you're welcome to change your name to 'Electric Pink,' open up a weblog titled Electricpink.org, and praise this record's merits. People can call you 'Pinky!' I won't be visiting."

-Brent DiCrescenzo