18.18 make their mark with “Mười Tám,” a debut EP that captures the unfiltered energy of youth, messy, melodic, and brimming with sincerity. It’s not a perfect record, but it’s loud, real, and nostalgic enough to make you believe in the fire of being eighteen again.
With six tracks oscillating between sugar-rush pop-punk and experimental left turns, “Mười Tám” stands as both a love letter and a challenge to Vietnam’s growing pop-punk revival.
Pulse Before Polish
The opener “Kết Giới” bursts in with confident guitar riffs and reverb-soaked vocals layered over a tight, driving rhythm section. There’s a garage-born urgency in how the instruments bleed into each other, slightly chaotic, but alive. It channels that mid-2000s aesthetic where every chord felt like a diary entry and every drum hit carried a bit of sweat.
The follow-up, “Hey Girl”, leans into pop territory with bright melodies and upbeat chord progressions. Beneath the sugary veneer, though, lies something more introspective, the sound of a teenage heartbreak caught between bravado and vulnerability. The chorus hooks hard, even if the vocal mix could use a touch more polish. Still, it’s a track that demonstrates 18.18’s understanding of the anatomy of a singalong: simplicity, sincerity, and a line that sticks.
Dreams, Screens, and Self-Awareness
“Mãi Mãi In My Mind (EP Version)” is the emotional centerpiece, a dreamy ballad built on shimmering guitar layers and lo-fi textures. It drifts between memory and melody, carrying the wistful ache of first love and faded summer afternoons. The vocals, half-sung and half-confessional, make the track feel like an intimate late-night recording session, caught between hope and hesitation.
The mood shifts sharply with “Ảo Ảnh Anime,” a witty, modern critique of digital-age identity. With sharp beats, spoken phrases, and tongue-in-cheek references, the track mirrors the hyperreal chaos of young lives spent between screens. It’s self-aware, slightly absurd, and weirdly comforting. The kind of track that shows 18.18 isn’t afraid to play with narrative and tone.
“Xóa Game” turns the heartbreak back into rebellion. A mix of pop-punk hooks and Vietnamese southern folk undertones, it’s both a breakup song and a punchline. A cathartic shout for anyone who’s ever rage-deleted their way out of love. The production is rough around the edges, but that’s part of its charm.
Imperfect, Honest, and Relatable
“Mười Tám“ doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but it doesn’t have to. Its power lies in its honesty, the way 18.18 translates the unfiltered emotions of being eighteen into sound. The production occasionally feels uneven, and some lyrics lean too heavily on repetition, but the band’s heart is undeniable. With sharper songwriting and more cohesion, their next release could easily turn that 7 into a solid 9. It’s definitely not a groundbreaking album for Vietnamese pop punk, but it’s the kind you can play with your lover and gently nod along to the melody.
Đánh giá: 7/10
