Pants Yell!

It’s finally April! And in the suburbs of Boston, the slush has melted away, washing the grime and grey of angry winter driving down the storm drains and out into the Charles River. The cool kids play tackle football in the mud, trampling the first few weeds dumb enough to believe that winter’s really over. High Schoolers slip out past their sleeping parents, bundled up in the LL Bean they’re otherwise too hip to wear, searching the night for meaning and a shady spot in the park to smoke.

It’s Saturday afternoon. A round faced girl with hooked nose and collection of too small t-shirts from her youth softball days lies on the floor of her room. A boy with intense, dark curls and intense, dark eyes leans against her bed. “Tell me a story” he says. She gets up and puts on a record.

A band is playing in a backyard. Bikes are locked up to wooden fence. Their riders, skinny guys from Allston and Central Square, sip beers and show off tattoos that prove nothing in the way of toughness. “We’re Pants Yell! from Boston” the guitarist says, and they launch into their next song. The round faced girl looks around and realizes she’s the only one dancing. After the set, she walks up to the guitarist and asks if they have any cds for sale. “No,” he says, “I only have our 7 inch.”

Pants Yell!
Kids are the Same:




Magenta And Green (MP3)


Pants Yell! play early, so make sure you come out to see them.