Frantic NWI bangers, reminding us why Rust Belt is king. Six bursts of classic maximum energy raw and nasty USHC in just six minutes, kicking rehash culture in the teeth with thrift store combat boots. Just enough twang to get the garage punkers off their asses (I'm talking "Worn Away" here, punks) to show the stuff up fashion mafiosos that being a punk means sometimes you gotta get a little wild and mess up your hair. And the riffs? Fukk, man, these mutants cram a double LP discography's worth into these brain melting bangers. This is all you want today.