Chin Up Chin Up's newly reissued debut EP is an amalgamation of coy cuddle pop and suffocating math rock that smells an awful lot like a post-9/11 take on late '90s Polyvinyl/Crank! emo-core. Like teenage boys whose bodies have grown faster than their emotional capacities, Chin Up swing with cutting angularity and precision, but without much attention to the grand scheme of things. In "Fuck You, Elton John", they refine an anthemic refrain into a jangly hook, but then toss their pop sensibility out the window for some cold but competent algebra homework. "Pillage the Village" plays out in similar fashion, cloistering its melody in unyielding syncopated rhythms. Even the EP's bonus electronic remixes squeeze emotive saccharine into sterile, rigid aesthetics, mercilessly adhering to Jimmy Tamborello's sensitive glitch template. It always seemed like Ben Gibbard would do well to let his teen movie ass grow timid in the shadow of urban anonymity, but Chin Up Chin Up suggests that it would just sound like Minus the Bear.