Hello Reagan-era hardcore. Welcome onto my stereo. It’s ’05 by way of ’82, and they’re neither restrained by the ripped-up jeans and bandanas of nostalgia nor guilty of licking off too much of Henry Rollins or Keith Morris’ armpit sweat and calling it holy water. They’ve taken from the best and put their own chips down on the table. How, oh how, does Direct Control do it when legions before them have failed? Don’t know, but it seemed for awhile that most of the bands capable of picking up the original American hardcore banner didn’t live inside the United States. This is neck-and-neck with DS-13, Amdi Peterson’s Army, and Career Suicide. Straight-ahead assault: like a chainsaw. At first you just hear the scary roar, and when you get used to it, you can see that all the whirring teeth on the saw are shaped a little bit differently without blunting the power. Yes.