They’ve gotten way heavier and grittier in the last year or so and now they crunch on this powergroove like Aerosmith or Hanoi Rocks on a mean J.D. binge.
Chris Dyas, his pockets filled with facial expressions barely contained beneath a ball cap. Slightly self-deprecating and sarcastic, sadly cynical and smirky.
Standard ’80s rock juiced with ’90s punk sarcasm and energy, broken into 12 songs littered with hooks, humor, sneering, bubblegum, and junk culture overload.
Three people yell, two play bass, two play guitar, two play drums, all make nonsensical statements to the press as to the underlying meaning of existence.