We all know the staff of Razorcake does wonders, aesthetically and otherwise, within the constraints of a budget—I acknowledge this. However, it is at this juncture in time in which I would implore, plead, and beg Sean and Todd to at least consider the possibility of taking out health insurance policies on its reviewers. Because I am fucking dying here. This is sickeningly bad psychobilly pabulum of the lowest order. Never a genre known for its lyrical brilliance, this is still incredibly, nearly majestically stupid. In most cases, I would say, “Some lyrics or band information would have been nice.” But not this time. Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Chop Shop, sir: if you’re going to put an $8.95 price tag on the front of your album, please make certain the paper template you’ve pressed onto the cover of your CD-R doesn’t show the lines from your laser printer. Doesn’t look good at all, hoss. If you’re gonna present something in a DIY but half-assed manner, I applaud you, but please price accordingly. If you’re gonna charge some sap nine bucks for a shitty six-song EP, make sure said EP doesn’t look like something my drunk little brother did in Photoshop while he should have been out buying me cigarettes.
–keith (A-Bomb ChopShop)