Drug-riddled lo-fi psyche punk culled from a fourteen-year span (1990-2004). When it’s slower, less focused, and includes sound collages, it’s reminiscent of Bongwater and Smegma, which can be annoying and interesting in quick turns. Faster tracks have the unexpectedly lit fireworks in your back pocket, ass-on-fire feel of early Butthole Surfers. Picture a map as a drop cloth. Eat too much of an international buffet at a questionable casino; puke it all up. What happens? Different types of chunks, splattered all over the map. Starts with blips, ends with an acoustic song.
–todd (Shut Up, $5 ppd.)