Preach it, Jason. That “lowercase American dream” is the worship of the buck, the buck that Red Collar isn’t out to make at all costs. It’s that won’t-settle-for-less attitude that puts the “p” in punk and puts the bandana in The Boss’ back pocket. It’s woven into each track on Pilgrim. Detractors will reduce Red Collar to a passable rock band. They’ll search for the irony in the lyrics, the sarcasm, the pissed off despondence and won’t find it, and since “what you see is what you get” isn’t sexy, they’ll yawn and sigh and check their watches. Hot Chip hasn’t remixed a Red Collar track, so relevance will seem lacking.
Yet for the listener who still appreciates to crank knob in the car with the windows down all the way along the highway, Red Collar is more relevant than ever. In an era in which the live show is less and less live and more and more computer, Red Collar is less of the same. Remember that when sweat drips from your chin at a Red Collar show, and you can’t remember the last time you were allowed to have this much fun listening to four people leave it all on the stage.
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