999,953: The Wrens — She Sends Kisses

You won’t find the Dad Rock section at your local record store. Nor will you catch the Vans DadRockFest package tour this summer. Dad Rock is a genre that hides in plain sight, the 300 pound ponytailed uncle in the room who tries in vain to impress the kids by casually having Wilco playing in the car stereo. “Hey, d’you ever check these guys out?” No, old man. They have not. Nor will they.

Dad Rock remains the genre that dare not speak its name because its aficionados are loathe to admit that the music they like falls into that category. To admit to Dad Rocking is to publicly state that it would be unseemly for you to get into so-called “relevant” music. Still, that makes it the reliable, tried-and-true, Honda Accord method of listening to music into one's twilight years, as opposed to the Mazda Miata method: hair-plugs, trying too hard, and continuing to jump on every musical fad that sweeps the underground.

If your Dad Rock days are dawning, as mine are, may I point you toward The Wrens? The guitars are chunky and sometimes kind of atonal, but sensibly so. They sound kind of aggressive, but still maintain an old school fixation with sounding kind of good. The singer’s voice is completely inoffensive, and they have an interesting (and looong) history that ends with the balding middle aged guys winning. In other words, they are a sensible alternative to either completely growing old, or hanging on by the fingernails to the increasingly embarrassing musical tastes of a younger person.

Best of all, they’ve got an unusually high level of indie cred (for a bunch of Dad Rockers), and they’re famous for their live show, which makes them slightly more likely to impress the kids next time you give them a lift in the Accord.

She Sends Kisses - The Wrens