For a band that laments that their instruments are “covered in failure,” and members feel like quitting because people they don’t know if they actually like their band, the Tyrades sound indestructible on vinyl. It’s not about finesse. It’s all about a snarling, gnashing, just-smart-enough, just-dumb-enough punk rock that’s pretty fuckin’ perfect for this dude right here. Brains + heart + genitals (there’s a lady present) + hard luck + amplification, go!—it’s an equation more often fucked up than not. The Tyrades tip the scales back. Everybody wins with Jenna’s tough and seductive snarl, Jimmy Hollywood’s “for saying you don’t know how to play, you sure get a lot out of it” guitaring, to Robert’s vulture picking through tough meat bass, and Frankie hitting the kit like a piece of trash “disciplining” a misbehaving kid in a checkout line at Wal-Mart. Great stuff. Four songs, including a slashy Wire cover.
–todd (Die Slaughterhaüs)