Pitchfork

Being a native of the scenic Pacific Northwest, I'm quite familiar with the lore of the epic demise of Mt. St. Helens. In a sudden tremendous blast, half of an enormous mountain was transformed into a blanket of ash, slowly creeping down through the air to rest on beautiful Oregon countryside for miles around. It was a harrowing experience for the residents of the normally placid and peaceful territory; one that proved fatal for the few whose sentimental attachment to the land caused them to refuse to heed the advice of the experts and evacuate quickly. A single monumental explosion forced millions to reevaluate their feelings of invulnerability to the forces of nature in the safe haven of Oregon. Tears were shed. Museums were erected. Commemorative packets of ash were marketed.

This is quite a fierce moniker for four scrappy kids from Illinois to live up to. In the venerable tradition of hardcore bands who amass a following while still practically bringing home finger-painting projects to their parents, two of the members of Mt. St. Helens have yet to finish high school. But fear not, for the lunch ladies at Geneva High have apparently loaded the pigs-in-a-blanket with enough angst tonic to fuel a spirited, mature sonic assault. On Time, Always endeavors to carry the punk rock torch that was left smoldering on the ground when important bands like Gauge and Friction dissolved or disappeared from view. In keeping with their name, Mt. St. Helens craft convincing, explosive guitar-driven rock that only gets better with increased volume.

Perhaps the Mt. St. Helens sound is so rich and developed because much of On Time, Always is formed from the oft-used Fugazi mold. Perhaps it's because they're so clever, as evidenced by the decision to name their album On Time, Always and one of their songs "Always On Time." Most likely, Mt. St. Helens are standing on the shoulders of giants in their formative years while honing their own sound. They certainly have much distance yet to travel on the maturity caravan, proven by the brilliantly adult naming of the Quicktime video included on the disc: "Quinn Smells Funny."

Thankfully, the music contained in On Time, Always does not exemplify this sophomoric sense of humor which delights in such high-brow sources of humor as a shot of a sign for "Woodcock Township." The word of the day for Mt. St. Helens is "potential," because if they continue to progress in the direction shown on this record, they may eventually stand as tall as their musical precursors. On Time, Always demonstrates an already highly-developed songwriting proficiency, as well as the ability to rock the Casbah post-haste. It falls victim to brevity, at a mere seven songs in length, though, as well as a spot of incongruous tragic rock star posing in the 8mm video. Mt. St. Helens can now choose to be the glorious explosion that seizes the listener's attention or the harmless ash that glides uninspiringly to the ground.