Lifetime "Lifetime"

As opposed to being termed slow or lazy, I prefer to apply the phrase "fashionably late" to my propensity to lag. In literal interpretation, such phrasing characterizes my eschewing fashion trends for well-worn comforts. Stripped to my boxers and socks, my hole-ridden undergarments better befit a mendicant than a tie-by-day cubicle slave. My basketball shoes, fifteen years late, are Reebok Pumps.

Since graduating college I've been forced to readjust my budget considerably. Essentials like CDs, hoodies from every show, and extra beer to influence floozy coeds have been replaced by food, electrical bills, and prostitutes. Germane to this discussion are the CDs alone. Where I used to routinely rack up five figure (including two digits after the decimal) music purchases at Charlotte's fabled Manifest Discs and Tapes, I now might not cross the $100.00 plateau until year's end. Because I choose to live with basic comforts like water, electricity, and walls called "paper thin" only in jest, I can no longer afford to buy albums on a whim. Instead of viewing my level of familiarity with year-end best-of lists as a barometer of scene status, I've dropped the confrontational attitude and appreciate the recommendations. Figuratively fashionably late, high school me would be appalled; no more trumpeting "firsts" for every new band, album or trend.

When Lifetime reunited to record last year, I was intrigued. The album was released and clamor ensued; one of my best friends, a fellow Davidson townie and College grad -- Where's Davidson, you ask? In the ELITE 8! -- posted a perfect score on another punk rock webzine. I guffawed. In my experience, perfection hasn't been achieved. Heidi Klum: a sultry 9.5. The mesmerizing dessert case at Charlotte's heavenly, historic Landmark Diner: 9.6. Nirvana's Nevermind: 9.7.

Lifetime's self-titled release earned a listen, to reassure me perfection hadn't been achieved. It hadn't. My world remained intact. I forgot about the album until weeks ago, when, through mysterious circumstances in which I deny all involvement and liability, the album found itself downloaded onto my computer.

I decided to investigate. My mouse pointer hovered over the first track. Hesitantly, my head weaving in paths like a glow stick in the hands of an X-fueled raver, fearing an RIAA sniper attack the moment I double-clicked, my forefinger jumped into action. As the warm tones of crunchy melodicore swirled around me, Ari Katz' oxymoronically sandpaper-smooth vocals layered over cutting melodies and a persistent rhythm section, I shuddered and surrendered. Not flawless, but perfect. Inspired for the first time in months, I wanted to know every word to shout aloud.

It's something of a tradition, a fit of high school nostalgia: when my friends and I approach the Carolinas' beaches for a summer vacation, we still welcome the fresh, salty breath of the ocean with a blast of Saves the Day's Through Being Cool. Now the era has shifted, and I've found the perfect accompaniment -- a year late, of course.

"All Night Long"
"Try and Stay Awake"

Ride the tunes to the Fueled By Ramen store.