Not as crazed as their last album, but that doesn’t mean that this isn’t up to its eyeballs in bad drug-induced psychosis. As I listened to this, I pictured Black Randy fronting an early incarnation of the Flesh Eaters writing desperate love songs to The Reatards. Then again, I could be way off the mark with that description. It wouldn’t be the first time. Look, just send ’em your fuckin’ money. You won’t be disappointed.
–jimmy (Blueball, 6517 Faralion Way, Oakland, CA 94611)