I know this doesn’t mean much to more than twelve people, but this is the band that emerged from the ashes of Hot Carl, who had a horrible name, but were full of potential, doing a good job of emerging from the shadow of liking Screeching Weasel too much. Fast-forward a couple years. The Chinese Telephones are even better. Add dashes of ripped-sweater, beer-stained early Replacements, the smart, rough pop punk propulsion of Rivethead, and letting it rip in a Milwaukee basement, hoping that you don’t knock yourself on the ceiling from jumping around too much. It’s great duct-tape, stained shirts, stinky pants, smart DIY punk.