The Crabs craft the sort of sha- la- la summer pop that leads the listener to believe that all of the three members wear pedal- pushers-- even the lone male-- and just perhaps floppy Gilligan hats. I'm tempted to check over the Crabs discography and see if any of their records were released in snowy Winter or dying Fall. It wouldn't make much sense.

Melted popsicle juice runs down the fingers of the guitarist. He frantically shakes his sticky digits over crisp strings, producing a clean jangle. The girls on the pier hold their nose and do "the Swim." The hooks aren't massive-- nothing that will pull you out to sea-- but they produce enough of an undertow in the Camp's lake to require "Warning, No Unsupervised Swimming" signs. You pop fans with pruned skin from frequent swims in the giant Pure Pop Ocean (which covers nearly 2/3 of the Earth's Musical Scene) are likely to get pulled under. But sometimes when the big salty waves intimidate you, it's more fun to grab your knees and cannonball into the pond.

Whistling caramel keyboards flutter throughout Sand and Sea. (Think lo-fi, jangly Rentals.) The Crabs win blue ribbons when they rumble through their tunes, but the ballads cloy. Like Fun-Dip, the Crabs are by no means essential daily intake. But when you need a quick sugar boost, these basic confectionery songs should do the job. In the race of Retro- Moog- N- Guitar bands, the Crabs are beating the pants off the likes of Wolfie. Too bad the race isn't very important and has been run before.

-Brent DiCrescenzo