After the blast and among the ruins in the rabble, there is no electricity, just shredded remains, radioactive seagulls, acoustic instruments, tattered voices, and songs of fights lost but spirits and traditions unbroken. That’s what I get from Black Beach Union: gypsy folk music that’s undeniably punk—gravelly, grave, simple—and I find myself lured to it. I want to sit down with ‘em around the burning barrel and sing along while drinking from a jar. For Starvations’ fans, too.
–todd (No Front Teeth)