If the singer’s Boston accent didn’t creep in every now and then (“Teah down the walls”), I’d swear this was a lost SoCal band from the early ‘80s. These twelve songs are anthemic like Agent Orange, with a heavy black cloud of guitars that got my fist in the air. All the songs are on one side, and the flip has an etching of the cover art, a drawing of a ball-gagged priest getting whipped by a nun.
–Chris Terry (pinehillrecords.bigcartel.com)