To come right out the gate and call this power poppy punk might be a little unfair. A lot of that stuff is all happy go-lucky look at my skinny tie and poofy hair. These guys don't appear all that fancy of dressers (after all they're Canadian-you know they've at least been in the vicinity of a sleeveless Saga T-shirt and pair of high top Nikes with the biggest tongues shoes have ever seen) and they don't quite have "she's the only girl for me/if she ever leaves my heart will be empty" way of thinking that 100's of dollar bin albums with geometric shapes and neon cover sleeve designs have.
The sleeve here is a guy with ketchup and mustard all over his face woofing down a hot dog that doesn't skimp on onions as a topping. Sure, they may mention Cherry Coke and so on in the songs but the mid-fi (think the Ramones and Supercharger finding common production value ground) and banged up sing along rock-n-roll here is rife with bad attitude. After all, how many tunes can you name from a Yellow Pills or Teenline comp that has a song titled something like "Fuck Off Baby"? Maybe I'm blanking but I can't think of one.