The first five songs follow the Terrors' pattern: "Fifth of July" displays the precision and thickness of the rhythm section; "At the Awful" pairs a funklike beat with melancholic guitar, providing the necessary energy for Rob Elba's vocals to soar to the point of crackling; and "Johnny Zhivago" demonstrates an understanding of primal, reverberating rock and roll. The Terrors incorporate booze-induced noise à la Laundry Room Squelchers and the artsy breaks of Wire into the postpunk, pre-alternative fury of hardcore acts like Mission of Burma and the Minutemen. To say "Thank you sweet Jesus, it's finally here" is a fucking understatement.
We need more documented histories like this for a scene as geographically isolated as ours to survive. The Holy Terrors put their two cents in the can with this decade-plus slab of wax.
