I have a fear of becoming homeless. Gone are the creature comforts of predictable electricity and indoor plumbing. Tenement foregoes the pleasantries of “professional” punk and lives off the land. In the dirt. Blasted by passing exhaust. Overexposed. Cracking. There’s something undeniably desperate, renegade, and wild-eyed about Tenement, even when they play slow and include what sounds like a xylophone. Rebellion without a marketing plan or a retirement fund. Part of the Cowabunga Sick Club. Recommended.