Straight-up goofy, silly, idiotic powerviolence from the Bay Area. Take your Charles Bronson, Stikky, and Scott Baio’s Army records, melt them together, dip them in an oil drum of toxic waste, and see what happens. You smell that? That’s the smell of bored teenagers who love burritos, wrestling, throwing rocks at cats, beer, macaroni salad, and applesauce—of all fucking things. Did I mention those are the song titles? Even with all this dick-baggery going on, they do happen to make a very astute and poignant observation on the ridiculousness of lifted trucks but fail to make mention of those fake rubber nut-sacks that so many of the bros love to hang underneath their rear bumpers. Pay attention kids: the bros vs. punks war is imminent and we need to stay one step ahead of the flat-billed assholes. In case you hadn’t already figured it out, the band is named after Bill Murray’s character from the movie Ghostbusters. I swore to myself that I’d hate this, I really did. But I don’t.
–Juan Espinosa (Cow Catcher, [email protected])