Here’s a brand of LA palm-tree cool shag punk you may have missed in a blur of heroin chic Tumblr posts. We did, anyhow. Walking into the western hills of an old money ‘hood house party to the tambourine shakes of a jam called “Teenage Girl,” kids backflipping into a pool, trio of rose-colored glass dancers twirling as hippie aura they could muster, lead howlette Clementine Creevy going on about pink sunglasses and some nonsense about a Kardashian – you can’t write this shit – too cool for school:

"Teenage Girl"

To Cherry Glazerr‘s cred and the wonderful people that put on this Burger Records’ heavy shindig, the vibes were perfect. And though Creevy writes about grilled cheese, aliens and the boring lives of privileged teenagers, she and her band are also pretty damn rock and roll at other times, taking the best swagger of that Velvet Underground strut that any kid with a soul and an instrument attempts to ride until death, and turning their own brand of clean lo-fi squall with just a tease of sex into something people baptize themselves in sweaty clubs for. In other words, these kids are alright like that Who song, and very rightly was this house party and everyone at it:

"Sweaty Faces"