Sweet, snotty, no-nonsense garage rock that huffs fabric softener (for that instant, wicked high which leaves blisters in your nostrils but smells nice) that twitches from the gate. The music trips down to the bare essentials like a meth’d sex worker in an ass-floss thong, kicks for the balls on the first note with combat boots and Converse All Stars (care of Omari and Matt), and doesn’t stop until a spiked heel (care of Rebecca) grinds it all to a halt shortly after. For fans of the Kill-a-Watts, Motards, and Dirtys. Think Chuck Berry and radioactivity. Me like. Me like.
–todd (Alien Snatch)