Butt rock is a dying breed, but I'm not sure why—everybody loves it, from suburban moms to patched-denim heshers to the tenderest tweenyboppers. Which is why Fang Island's latest, Major, is such a dopily heartwarming listen: It brings the rawk straight back to where it belongs—your butt—by evoking Journey and Boston and AC/DC and Billy Squier and all the crappy FM rock-block jams that have become part of your DNA. Crunchy, squealy guitars and needlessly speedy riffs ornament melodies that are as sweet and gloppy as a two-pack of Twinkies, with some 21st century advances for good measure (reedy indie-guy vocals, post-emo guitar symphonics). It's impossible not to be cheered up by Fang Island, who are wholly unpretentious about delivering massive, gilt-edged, anthemic rock. To your butt.