Believe the image on the cover. This is a dangerous record that comes shrieking into your eardrums like the swirling propellers of the deliverers of death at the beginning of Apocalypse Now. Following in the footsteps of Dinosaur Jr. and shreddy labelmates Screaming Females, Kicking Spit seem intent on ripping steel from wood, tolex from tubes, and eyes from unhinged sockets. This is heavy, sludgy, noisy, relentless, garage punk. I am way down. One (unpunk) request to the band, maybe just two-hundred more dollars on vocals and mixing next time? I love the crusty fidelity of this record but I just want to hear the vocals a little better. Okay, fine. I’m old.
–Noah (Don Giovanni, dongiovannirecords.com)