Rasping wolverines, armed with claws of noise, blasting bursts and slashing gospel-y vocals, go to At The Drive-In’s house, ransack the place, then go to your childhood happy place and scream at your mom. Wham, wham, wham. A tad arty in a Locust-y way and more like a painting of a flower on wrecking ball instead of being fey, foppy, loopy, and nose wipey. I also hear cues from Born Against and Combat Wounded Veteran. Not the usual swatch of carpet I play miniature golf on, but loud and crunchy enough to keep me putting along to it. I keep pulling out of the stacks.
–todd (Three One G)