Trebly. Fuzzy. Big boots and short skirts. Skinny ties and ill-fitting suits and an ardent love for 196something. Straight outta the garage, shot through with a mild dose of potty humor and, overall, a pretty convincing piece of work. I’m sure Ryan Leach could go on and on about a band like this, but my working knowledge is pretty slim. Best I can come up with is if the Groovie Ghoulies had been less into horror flicks and the Ramones and more into Nuggets comps and drawing dirty pictures on the bathroom wall, they may have sounded pretty similar to this. Features one of the most harmlessly idiotic but vaguely disturbing record covers I’ve seen in some time—and they actually sound more tuneful than I expected from the cover. If you can make it past that, you’re set. Milwaukee seems a big town for these kind of ‘60s proto-garage bands, and I have a feeling more than a few folks here would fall in love with these guys if they heard ‘em.