RANCID - INDESTRUCTIBLE

Music is always playing. Always. And you wind up attaching moments you’ve lived to certain bands, albums, or songs, so that when you hear them again, you remember those times from your past.
Rancid is like that for me. No matter what kind of album Rancid makes, I’ll have a place in my heart for ‘em. I'll defend them tooth and nail. I love them. They remind me of a time in my life that was good, innocent, and mischievous.
I’m back on Josh and Jeremy Troski’s porch, spending my last five bucks on a 40 oz. and some cigarettes. Everyone laughs at Bruce, because Bruce is the funniest person we know. Except for, maybe, Timmy. When Rancid’s ...And Out Come the Wolves came out, he used to take the song lyrics, and make them apply to all of us. He’d sing each tune, newly worded, and we’d laugh our asses off.
Indestructible makes me think back to all that: the Troskis, Bruce, Timmy, Sarah, Heather, Porter (RIP), Bailey, Diatra, Charity, the Mader Sisters, Andrea,.. where the hell are those kids? Who knows. But I hope that whenever they hear it on the radio, MTV, or wherever, they can’t help but think back to Timmy singing on that porch and changing the lyrics, though he didn’t have to. All the songs were about us and that bond we all had: you fuck with one of us, you done fucked with all of us. Rancid seemed to be writing what we were thinking. Always. Even when they got away from the songs about crews and solidarity, and delved into more political depths.
Their new record would have been the perfect piece in their progression puzzle, if it were smack-dabbed between the ska-tinged ...And Out Come the Wolves and the creatively broadened Life Won’t Wait. Indestructible fluctuates between Strummer-esque melodies and styles, to tally-ho take-charge rockin’ punk tunes. The harmonies, the catchy hooks, and the Hammond B-3 organ turn an otherwise ordinary punk record into a more soulful album for those who dig the genre.
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