It’s hard enough getting out of bed during a “polar vortex” — whatever, I feel like a character on Battlestar Galactica using this new exploitive term — let alone lug your gear from South Williamsburg to the Lower East Side. But that’s what The Teen Age did… FOR US, and they did it well, playing to the brave, intimate crowd at Pianos, making everyone, myself included, satisfied in our decision to strap on our snow boots, say “fuck you” to the snow, and trudge our way to hear some awesome music. As I’ve expressed before (re: “two rainbows fucking”), The Teen Age is a band that makes me sublimely happy. (It also probably doesn’t hurt that every one of the members is charming and a pleasure to be in the company of.) Their sound is upbeat California garage-pop that makes you sway and tap your toes without insulting the high-anxiety, stressed out, “brace for the worst” East-coast sensibility.