The image I get when listening to the Tranzmitors is an expert telephone switchboard operator—the type who would plug in lines by hand after the call’s placed—only with a time machine. So, you’re getting a call from 1977: Buzzcocks, Gang of Four, Undertones, Jam, all hanging on one line, but cross-switched to 2006 without losing clarity, without static. Your musical door, today, is kicked off the frame, and in comes a band, all instruments a-blazing, shooting you full of musical notes. Like the Exploding Hearts, there’s something vital to be said about freshly broken angles, bent and infected melodies, redirecting stray lines back to the master strokes to the likes of Elvis Costello—not to make a shrine—but to push older ideas further than they initially went. And, holy smokes, The Tranzmitors sound like they were born nailed to their instruments. Wow.