Look, I know this guy. The chill, laid back guy. The dude that bobs his head back and front, like Jeff Bridges does. He smokes his Marlboro reds.

He's a good guy.

That's what I like about Smarthearts. Using the term "honest," is such an overrused thing. But Smarthearts feels honest. It's true power pop, standing in a crowd of people who know that phrase just to use it too much. Times have brought a wave of people that suddenly appreciate the dead heroes that never quit made it on the shelf like their "punker" counterparts did. The ones that were sickly sweet and cooed about teenage woes. These people hear this thing called power pop and rush to claim every band that's too-poppy-for-punk falls under the label.

Smarthearts on the other hand feel like this is just them.

They ooh into their mics and say simple, lovingly words. The guitar sits where it needs. It never steps out-of-bounds and you never forget that it's there. The drum can feel like a heartbeat keeping score. Smarthearts' music feels like a lost lover separated by the snow. It feels of longing; yearning.

It feels good.