If ya want my twelve beers’ worth, I fervently proclaim The Riffs one of the trashiest, most bad-ass punkrock bands to savagely blast an ear-wrecking array of insolent sonic snottiness in many moons. They aggressively spit and spew forth a flesh-scorching assault of brazen street-scruff rock’n’roll belligerence that frenetically epitomizes COOL. It’s the perfect musical mishmash of mayhem, wild manic energy, and all-out alley-swaggering attitude: drunken razor-slashed vocals, menacing Steve Jones-style rhythm guitar crunch with violent and fiery Johnny Thunders-like leads, and a decadent urban squall of subway train bass rumblings and skull-rattling jackhammer drum beatings. Ladies and gentlemen, I now present the undeniably greatest rock’n’roll band in all of the world: The Riffs! Do yourself a favor and pick up this spastic piece of plastic today, or forever live a life of complete uninspired mediocrity…
–guest (TKO)