Four-on-the-floor, cut-and-paste sloppy crust punk. Their hearts are in the right place (topics covered include the meaningful but standard fare: respect for cyclists, religion, the beauty standard, machismo, government, etc.), but it’s pretty run of the mill shit. Lots of gang screams, tons of soundbites and lyrics that sometimes read like Yoda backed by a bunch of drunk punks: “With us on bikes, the road you must share,” indeed. They’re probably a fun basement band to watch while fucked out of your head on forties of malt, but when they’re restricted to the stereo I just can’t help feeling that I’ve heard this record a hundred times before and didn’t really dig it that much back then, either. And the fact that their cover showcases the famous photo of that kid holding the grenade that was on the early pressings of SNFU’s If You Swear, You’ll Catch No Fish LP from a million years ago really doesn’t do much to lessen that sense of revisiting memory lane.
–keith (Blood Money)