"We're really self-conscious of the band," Jorge states. "We don't even really tell people we're in a band."

"Yeah," Noe chimes in, "we don't want to come off as guys with big egos. We don't really do it for others, we're really just trying to impress ourselves."

After prodding, the boys finally acquiesce: "Yeah," Jorge says, "when my self-esteem is low, I think, hey, at least I'm in a band. And when people say they like it, it feels really good. But I start to wonder sometimes if this is what I should be focusing on. Maybe I should pay some more attention to academics."

The Chandails: Enemy of the barista, friend of the music lover.
The Chandails: Enemy of the barista, friend of the music lover.

The band interrupts him with fits of laughter, all murmuring, "No."

So this is the face of young rock 'n' roll. Utter guilelessness. It's almost maddening, but near the end of the interview, Paul finally picks up the mysterious sock he's been eyeing. The other guys erupt in laughter.

"That's disgusting," Jorge moans.

Paul just shrugs his shoulders and laughs. "I used my fingernails." As we laugh, I turn off my recorder.

"I'm sort of nervous that we were really dull," Noe frets. As we shake hands, I tell him not to worry about it. "You guys rock. That's all that matters." As I move to shake Paul's hand, he pulls a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer from his coat.

"You carry hand sanitizer with you?" I ask, amused that the cleaner nullifies the closest the guys have come to senseless rock 'n' roll shenanigans.

"Yeah," Paul smirks.

The sanitizer, it would seem, is an apt metaphor for the band's music: "It gives me the courage to be silly and do gross stuff."

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