Ugly, noisy, and brutal, even when strumming an acoustic, and heavy in that sludgy, painful way, like playing old Slayer riffs with a blanket over the amp.
’80s rock riffs, Beatlesque harmonies, and Dinasaur Jr. dissonance. Travis Shettel inexplicably treats them all with the same vessel-bursting screamatude.
The paces are less suicidal, Dani’s screech is a little labored, and foot-stomp and spooky stalkings don’t make women clutch small children to their breast.
With catchy hooks and displays of actual talent, this self-titled album reminds us all of what’s its like to be 16, with only lust and liquor on your mind.