Late ‘70s, giving-Rodney Bingenheimer-a-boner punk. It’s the type of punk that took all that messy sausage of bloated, self-indulgent rock and turned it briskly inside out, revealing a new beautiful ugliness. Out sprung songs that last shorter than guitar solos. Pop with nails and claws spawned, all while celebrating barely being able to play an instrument, but without fear. L.A.’s Dangerhouse label comes to mind—especially the song structures of the Eyes and Weirdos. The Clorox Girls play songs that are terribly full of hooks, and are so bold, sure of themselves, and gamboling that it seems like 2005 came a year after 1978 for these three guys. Slot them in with some of the early bests and there’s no mold on the packaging. No small achievement.