Where other bands mellow, ripen and rot with age, the thirtywhatevers of Boston’s finest keep getting harder, rougher, and snarlier with every release.
Some nice guitar hooks, a good Cavedogs-type vocalist, thick bass, snappy snare drum, songs about, I dunno, girls and stuff. Inoffensive and ignorable rock
Still not original, the music is bar-band serviceable but awkward and stiff, and the lyrics continue to reach far beyond their grasp in search of profundity.
You hear Steel Miners for the first time and immediately you wanna go out and smash all the windows in the upscale, yuppified clothing store up the street.