Smear on some Motards grease and resin, huff some gas with early Zeke, add the smell of burning hair, squeeze and screw in the punk’n’roll pyrotechnic sensibility of The B-Movie Rats, and you’ve got a close approximation of the Mexican Blackbirds. It’s in the red, the vocalist sounds just short of being strangulated, and it feels like their instruments are stabbing you in the chest while slicing your tendons so there’s no easy retreat. They’ve definitely learned assault tactics of their own and aren’t just pickpocketing the bands previous mentioned. Good stuff. It’s growing on me with each listen.