21 cuts of primal dead horse beatings from four guys who sound a lil’ like Sticky Fingers Stones with a crystal ball that can see the Ramones’n’Dead Boys.
Eight of the singles are here, but there is also a re-recording of “Pollen Count” and a remix of “Your Daddy’s Car” for variety. Two new songs are included.
The Distillers are trashy, violent, swear convincingly, snarl about pretty much everything, and rock harder, dirtier, and meaner than Joan Jett and Hole.
Martin Atkins is the Greg Ginn of the early 21st century, i.e. appearing on just about every release on his Invisible label. One difference: He doesn’t suck.
Pop-punk’s melodic know-how blending with art rock ala Big Black/every other Chicago band to produce a new genre all its own. Why didn’t I think of it first?