This schizoid little disc flip flops between these tasty bits that sound like a metal-fortified Hank Rollins-era Black Flag and these excruciating sections filled with ghastly swirling syrupy vocal harmonies that go on and on and makes me think of squirming in the dentist chair while having my teeth drilled into without any Novocain. But it all kind of made sense when I read the liner notes and saw that some guitar work was donated by one Gregg Ginn, whose musical tastes got moldy in the back of the fridge sometime back in the early ‘80s. This actually gets worse the more I listen to it.
–aphid (Boss Tuneage)