Everything was going all hunky-Dookie with veteran pop-punksters Green Day and their lead up to an ambitious trilogy of albums here – ¡Uno!, ¡Dos!, ¡Tré! – what with frontman Billie Joe Armstrong’s promising “FUCK TIME!!!!” utterance, among other general press statements of “epic as fuck” proportions. Until, just a few days shy of ¡Uno!‘s release, Armstrong went on a Justin Bieber-expletive tirade at the iHeartRadio Music Festival in Las Vegas, followed by an announcement that the sober-for-12-months dude fell off the wagon and some promotional appearances are going to be cancelled. Fodder for reading into this trilogy curtain-opening with a destructive agenda? Maybe so. Either way, this is the band’s ninth album, and these are certainly its best lyrics we’ve heard from its addictively abrasive power-chord-pedastol thus far:

Carpe Diem‘ 

Ever since jumping the punk shark to mainstream pop waters, the Berkley-spawned trio have gotten immense amounts of shit from the punk scene for selling-out and all that naysayer jazz, but there’s never been a covering of tracks as to how its effected them over the course of they’re lyrical oeuvre. In this case, a reaffirmation of not nearly calling it quits, complete with an anthemic megaphone crunch and a veiled war theme: [LISTEN]

Carpe diem, a battle cry
Aren’t we all too young to die
Ask a reason and no reply
Aren’t we all too young to die

Kill the DJ

Likely the the most foot-firendly number on the record, this one chases a Franz Ferdinand post-punk vibe, all angular guitar jabs and mute ska crunches, Armstrong taking cheeky aim at signs of the instant-gratification times. Or it may just be a noir tale about an annoying DJ. In which case, someone take out that damn DJ already: [LISTEN]

Walkin’ after dark
In the New York City Park
I’ll pick up what’s left in the club
My pocket full of pills
Sodom and Gemorrah
In the century of thrills


Another handclap-dancey gem, fun with cadence abounds – rabble-rousing power-pop fit for the late 70s with singsong twists on that ridiculous meme trolling the intranets that encourages peoples’ desires to be “inside” a town of their choice. Except the turn-of-phrase whipped out here could be a pick-up line: [LISTEN]

I wanna get inside of you
I wanna crack your cranium delirium
On the lower east side of your mind

Rusty James

Wading around the ephmera of the band’s American Idiot rock opera days, “Rusty James” is a major-key cruiser, stocked with a searing solo and this brilliant pre-chorus kissed with the middle-finger irony Cobain slung on “In Bloorm,” you know the ones, they like all those pretty songs, likes to sing-along, but doesn’t know what the hell they mean; even a distancing from the “mainstream” plug: [LISTEN]

And all the losers
Can’t even win for losing
And the beginners
Don’t even know what song they’re singing

Oh Love

Perfectly fading out the record, this number just as easily could have opened it all, an anthem of a dashboard-pounder, fist-raiser, wherever your hands can do some damage or make a statement, a howler for the bleeding-heart set, allegorizing a sentiment that’s traced the band’s path for years as they’ve struggled to rebound from their initial origins cold-shoulder. No middle-finger necessary, just a true blue human go-for-broke jam: [LISTEN]

Far away
Far away
Waste away tonight
I’m wearing my heart on a noose
Far away far away
Waste away tonight
Tonight my heart’s on the loose