Jenn Rourke
Hell On Stilts

With their latest LP release "Summer Fling," Champaign 's Red Hot Valentines have perfected "let's-get-drunk-and-screw" rock that somehow appeals to both 20-year-old college boys and barely pubescent teenage girls. Gender studies experts shake their heads in disappointment and confusion.

These five pop punk-wielding, Midwestern-bred guys are even remarkable musicians, and with catchy digital hooks and infectious, wistful lyrics they've been propelled to teen idol status in their native Central Illinois. Their pop rock melodies will sidetrack your brain further than a well-cultivated drug addiction. And like heroin, while you attempt to get it out of your system, every subsequent hit just leaves you wanting more.

Maybe that comparison's a little extreme. I can't say I've ever seen anyone suffer delirium tremors after an RHV show, but there's always a first...

RHV's magnetism can be narrowed down to two key elements - Jeff Johnson's chirpy (occasionally ballsy) vocals and Tyson Markley's indelible monophonic key patterns. Jeff possesses that happy-go-lucky singing style, a la New Found Glory's Jordan Pundik (old school NFG, not new school - that would be an insult), but with just enough bass and balls to keep the attention of the male audience.

On disc he may sound a bit weak, but his intensity on a live stage will reassure that he's all about hard-ass rock 'n' roll. Meanwhile, Tyson ("Mr. Handsome," according to the band's official website), purveyor of the keyboards, reels them in with simplistic sequences that have undoubtedly contributed to RHV's popularity. His undeniable baby-faced good looks probably haven't hurt sales numbers either.

The band aptly utilizes the keys to distinguish themselves from would-be contemporaries that feature Moog-tailored pop rock routines by using their MIDI in moderation. With Toby Kirk's layered guitar, David Gerkin's woofer-thumping bass and Eric Humbert's methodic drums, the band gets the spine it needs to keep from sucking like whiny-Simple-Plan-pseudo-punk.

Sometimes it's not how you play, but why you play. The Red Hot Valentines keep it straightforward, exploring everything from teen breakups, to road trips, to drunken mistakes. At times, their latest record finds them just short of hippie daydreaming, nurturing thoughts of "lying naked on a rock under the sun" and "a pocket full of secrets" ˘ sentiments one might've expected from a group of van-shacked peace freaks. Meanwhile other recent releases like "Calling Off Today" and tracks "Wait for Summer," and "One Last Kiss" just flat out encourage everybody to go outside and play.

It's like pop-punk Sesame Street for college kids, and Sesame Street kicked a lot of ass. Seeing them in person is one hell of a sociological phenomenon in itself. Checking out a live show is like going to some all-city female choir concert with fewer clothes. A chorus of high-range voices fills every venue, backing Jeff and Toby in their quest to be badass rockers.

But this doesn't deter young men from thrashing and drawing beads of sweaty energy out of each throbbing chord. Little girls find themselves pressed against the rails as of pent up-aggression-packed youths jump and writhe to the anthems that are "Bring Back the Good Times" and "I'm Sorry." If you're not left with a rib bruising and perspiration droplets at closing time, then it's your own fault.

So while winter may be drawing near, it's never too late for a "Summer Fling." Check out the Red Hot Valentines with the Copyrights and The Plus tonight at Hangar. At best you'll leave a wicked, awesome show feeling worn out and satisfied. At worse, have a few drinks and stare at the really cute guy on keys.