There was a time when all you monkeys would climb over each other's dicks for a taste of the latest burst of distortion. No one cared what it was, as long as the vocals were drenched in reverb and there was at least one guitar track tweaked to a tinny pulp, nothing more than ambient noise and hiss showering the entire recording with shades of white. Drum could play a DBeat, or pogo punk, or galloping crust - it didn't matter as long as the shit sounded fucked up and there was chaos (implied or real). That was 2010, and 2010 was a long long time ago. Now you monkeys want synths and choruses, you want your harsh noise to come from weird shelves of pedals and laptops instead of guitars, and your pretentious shoelace headbands have been replaced with pretentious trench coats or some other ironic garb. This is for you, you monkeys: six minutes of madness. I love you.