There’s something charming about guitar tones that sound like knives zinging over whetstones. Same goes for vocals that sound like strangulation. Same goes for “I call bullshit! Beer-battered-bullshit!” lyrics. Who knew JFA’s Blatant Localism EP wouldn’t flat spot after all these years? With skate-infused thrash punk the devils are in the details, and, for some reason, the illustration on the insert bugs me. Think Suicidal Tendencies-ish skull. Think Schmidt Stick—rails (I’m surprised there’s not a lapper) with an ankle-biter tip. But there aren’t any front trucks on the deck at all. Maybe so the band’s name could fit on the graphics. That’s weird. I like this record. I’m predisposed to. It’s the stuff I loved when I was thirteen years old. No surprises, just shredding. Ditch skating prior to the ascendancy of street, when Rodney Mullen wore day-glo.