A guitar band: the hyperactive squawking chord changes backed up by the equally proficient percussion are the stars of 523. The vocals are rather monotonous.
A good stab at Hüsker Dü’s Land Speed Record in intensity. It’s more punk than hardcore, and a very refreshing glass of youthful angst on this hot sunny day.
You can fuck to it, drink to it, declare a point of grave creation, sit in exile under fist over lecture, or stare at a dark wall with a gun in your underwear.
What good old American rock is all about. Many bands try to get it right, and get boring instead. There is no gimmick to hide behind. This rock is heartfelt.
Ultrasound, retaining some of its playground playfulness, is, in my opinion, the only time I ever remember an album I love following up a debut I hated.