All right, I’ll be honest. My first impression of this album was that it sucked balls. The only thing I’d heard worse was the last two Buzzcocks albums. Why? I don’t rightly know, son. Maybe it was because their first four records – some of the finest work punk rock has ever seen – cast a mighty long shadow. Maybe it’s because they turned in to utter shit almost immediately after Joe Wood took over vocal duties and I fully expected this to suck. Anyway, I thought this blew hard and I was not gonna hesitate to shout this tidbit of information from the highest steeple in the land. To be sure that I was correct in my loathing, I listened to the album again. And again. And again. And every time I listened to it, I began to hear more and more of the things that made me love TSOL in the first place. The solid backbeat coupled with the dark tonality of Ron’s guitar. Jack’s inimitable vocals. The sarcasm. The edge. What the fuck was wrong with me?! How could I have thought this sucked? Was I high? Unlike the aforementioned more recent efforts that the Buzzcocks are responsible for, this has been given a hallowed place in the heart (and record collection) of this dour, old-fart punker. Yes, I recommend it.