Latterman seems an appropriate band-name for this four-piece punk outfit from Long Island. The re-release of their 2002 record Turn Up The Punk, We’ll Be Singing reveals a band looking wistfully back over their shoulders; living in the latter. To re-hash a record from three years ago seems in itself an act of clinging to the past. But in fact, everything about this album seems a desperate attempt by ageing punk-rockers to cling to a fading history.

The liner notes of the CD ache nostalgically for the culture in which the band developed. This record was originally released on underground label Traffic Violation and, according to the band, was a testament to the spirit of the Long Island DIY punk movement. Indeed, listening to the songs on Turn Up The Punk… one gets a tangible sense of the lively counter-culture community from which the record must have sprung. One of the best things about this album is the sense of immediacy – it really captures the live, in-the-moment spirit of a rowdy punk band in flight.

However, hand in hand with this backward-gazing, is an irritating immaturity in both style and substance. Latterman’s sound on this record is an awkward one. The musicianship is surprisingly accomplished. This is not one of those dime-a-dozen punk bands who simply belt out three-or-four chords as quickly and loudly as possible. The two guitarists interweave their classic punk riffs and thrashy stylings with delicate licks and dynamic shifts in intensity. What stops Latterman’s sound ascending into really great punk, however, are the disappointing vocals. In punk, the singing is shouty. We all know that; that’s the way it is. But really great punk vocalists are able to imbue the shouting with melody and lyricism. A fine example is Hot Water Music, whose singing is abrasive, but still harmonious and – all importantly – is entwined with the music to create real emotional impact. Unfortunately, Latterman’s vocals have no musicality and are completely disconnected from the talented music going on beneath. It is simply two voices shouting in unison, over the top of the band. This fails to draw the listener into the music, or create an emotional bond between the lyrics and the sound.

As for the lyrics themselves, Latterman certainly have the passion. Unfortunately it’s a very adolescent, earnest and overly-literal kind of passion. Promisingly witty song-titles such as Rebellion vs. The Alarm Clock and 83% Off Your Self-Esteem unfortunately contain no such humour or imagination within the words themselves. “If occupations define ourselves it will leave us alienated from ourselves and our world” they rant, in what sounds more like an angry entry in a teenager’s journal, than a song lyric. “So many beautiful people let themselves feel unfulfilled if they don't fit some pre-conceived notion of beauty,” screams another lyric. Is this a song or a support-group? With punk, the line is always blurred. But despite their positive message and obviously genuine belief in what they’re trying to express, it would be nice to see Latterman deal with these ideas a little more originally and thoughtfully.

The overwhelming feeling the listener gets from Turn Up The Punk, We’ll Be Singing, is of longing for belonging. The members of Latterman – like many others, no doubt – obviously felt a profound sense of community within the Long Island DIY scene. Now, after an 18 month hiatus, they have reformed and found that community no longer exists as they remember it. So they have simply re-released an album from the days they remember with fondness, in an attempt to relive them. For sure, to be a true punk artist in this plastic world of Avril Lavignes and Lee Hardings, must be a frustrating experience. But wouldn’t it be more constructive to make something new? To assess your situation in the here-and-now, and express it as older (hopefully wiser) songwriters? We can only hope that Latterman will grow and mature as a band, create more accomplished work… and perhaps in doing so they will find a new sense of belonging, which they clearly so long for.