This Was Now
In a label-crazy world, the music of The Crosswalks is a breath of fresh air. A little too whimsical for Indie rock and a little too boundy for the overly-introspective world of emo, the leaping melodies and whip-smartass lyrical content mesh into a goulash of styles and influences that is at once familiar and decidedly alien. The result is a sound that has crashed out of the garage and through the stratosphere in directions that careen beautifully in every angle. A Crosswalks performance is a sonic suckerpunch. The thunderous, drum-tight blast does not sound like it's coming from three people. But as the group swaps vocals (each member spends equal time on the mic) and surges back-and-forth across the stage, the creative energy and adrenalized charisma of the band shines. There is never a dull moment, or a lapse in the show where you feel compelled to hit the bathroom. The Crosswalks - in all their goofy, eclectic and explosive glory - grab you by the throat and refuse to let go. And you have no choice but to bob your head and go along with the ride.