There's a special place in punk rock hell reserved for these motherfuckers. It's somewhere between Miami and Chattanooga, but it certainly is within the swampy wastelands of Florida because contrary to their furiously incorrigible beliefs, Florida does not suck. And these "dudes" make a good case for Florida's lack of suckage.
This is their second full-length (and first Livid Records effort), and they're already entering the hallowed halls of famously ugly, sweaty, and tattooed musicians this glorious state has given the world.
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I'm already getting the neighbor knocking on the walls but she'll come around once this rock 'n' roll overtakes and infects her. I'm thinking this is somewhere between Turbonegro, Fucked Up, The Bronx, Electric Frankenstein, The Devil Dogs, barbiturates and three bottles of mid-shelf whiskey. It is hectic and uncompromising with flourishes of arena-rock excess.
The rhythm section of Ivan Medrano (bass) and Rene Leon (drums) dictates a break-neck cadence that is extremely well-gelled. The twin guitars of Matt Scally and Tom Cavanaugh border on physical assault while hefty Rasputin John Vale grinds and gears through the album with his baton commandeering the overall fracas.
Opener "Operation" is not so much a suggestion of getting the scalpel as it is a thermodynamic body cleanser. It doesn't let go from there, it clutches the thorax and does not let go. I believe they don't love me in "I Don't Love You," I'm confused about video-gaming in "N.E.S." and I am certain that I've eaten a "Demonburger" at some point, but this one trumps the culinary demonics. The self-serving "Happy Birthday Furious Dudes" is shameless self-promoting while the eighth track, appropriately named "# Eight" closes the album in a succinct and deafening manner.
My colleague Jose Flores recently stated that the album should be retitled to MABAPCDBTROFS (Miami And Boca Are Pretty Cool, Dude, But The Rest Of Florida Sucks) and while I agree on the aesthetics of that, I'll let these furious gents voice their opinions. But in the end, kind gentlemen, your residency in this glorious state implicitly implies that Florida most certainly, does not suck! Huzzah!