What's amazing about bands like Bay Area quartet Trapt is how many of them are lurking out there in the musical ether. Each major city has to have about a dozen or so of them, with varying names playing the same clubs, composed of guys who all look the same and seemingly all took classes together at the Clear Channel School Of Middle-of-the-Road Rawk. What's disconcerting is that groups like this believe they do all sound unique, when the only thing that differs between them is the names of the individual members and maybe the license-plate numbers on their tour vans. Alternately, as much as it pains us to admit, most "hipster" bands - the ones who litter Pitchfork and work at American Apparel during the day - also sound remarkably alike. But groups like Trapt all seem to carry the same macho dynamic, and remain lyrically stunted into a sort of 15-year-old-girl vortex, where the content stays firmly and abstractly aggressive: breaking out, breaking up, falling down, fighting or struggling continuously. To rework a popular phrase, what the pretentious writers don't know, the mainstream brahs will mosh to and spend money on. Even if they don't completely understand it.
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