It’s muscular, it’s pissed off at Middle America, it’s melodic like old school 7 Seconds and Agent Orange, it’s full-bodied, it’s fucking pure hardcore.
Gone are the aggressive singing, the abrasive beats, the youthful rancor of old. They’ve been replaced by a mellower, subtler, wiser breed of Front 242.
Pure annoyance. The tracks don’t even share smooth continuity to make it sound as if they were attempting to build some kind of arc toward a larger conclusion.
This garage rock/art punk revivalist trio consists of a drummer, a singer (or wailer/whiner/whatever) and a guitarist. No bassist. They make due just fine.