They’re loud, angry and fast, but weird, too. The chords don’t sound right. They’ve also got this epileptic start-and-stop thing, tight as your little sister.
Big riffs and spicy leads. It has a bass you can feel through the floor, and drums that, if they were human, would sport lots of tattoos on their beefy arms.
Ploddingly minimalistic repetition of simple phrases and music that was recorded live instead of taking the time and energy to meticulously craft each song.
The Smugglers are always good for skipping-school-for-the-beach. There’s nothing better than surf, sun, sand, and drinking and shimmying to punkers in suits.