This is fast, furious, and hard-hittin’ punkrock unruliness with a slight bit of a crunchy metal edge to it (think a thrashin’ Hot Water Music crossed with the Rollins Band on meth steroids). It’s packed to the gills with such frenetic raging fury that my knees uncontrollably knocked together, my teeth frightfully chattered like a speed-addled skeleton, and the hair on the back of my neck stood straight on end after just one listen. Then I had the sudden compelling urge to madly leap around the room and repeatedly smash my head into the walls while the brutally blistering sounds of Clocked In noisily blared outta my stereo speakers over and over and over again. Even though I’m now bloodied, battered, and bruised beyond recognition, I just can’t get enough of this ferociously spectacular sonic slaughterhouse. I’ll see you in the pit, kiddies. –Roger Moser, Jr.