Wisconsin’s Puke, Sagger, Mildew, and Chapelle (now that would be a law firm!) return (so soon?) like a grown-up Emil Minty (you know, the Feral Kid from Road Warrior?) leading the Great Northern Tribe to hurl boomerangs, sodomize, and howl their way through the ruins of the Wisconsin governor’s mansion until all that’s left is a festering pile of milorganite. Not that it’s overtly (or even remotely) “political” in the Joan Baez sense of the term, but more like a shattered funhouse mirror reflecting the CHUDocratic realities of unrelenting de-evolutionary post-idealism. There’s a fantastic soul and spirit to the shrieking pound-and-plod, and the sound is a violently refreshing alternative to the current trends of far too many bands these days sounding like they thought it would be a good idea to record in Meramec Caverns (Re? Re? Re? Verb? Verb? Verb? Bro? Bro? Bro?). (Although, it should be noted, I have seen them when they had a great deal of echo on their mics, which gets to be pretty funny when they get a few drinks in them and get a little bit, uh, chatty, between songs…) Regardless, with songs like “Pestilience of the Flesh” and “Burning Hell,” you should get a good indication of what these guys are getting up to here: KRAZY PUNK for the dystopian barbarian in all of us. [Dusty Medical]
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