“Only duct tape and whatever substance comes to hand holds these scifi dumb punk songs together… Produced on a dime, it’s strip thin and loose, it’s a throwback to all types of uber-cool sub genres for those who love cheap punk and pleasures.”
In a bleach blistered highscuzz of scorch-rattle garage, The C33s let out 3 minutes 30 of beautiful scratching and scrawl. No let up from open to end. No pause to look back ’til it’s done with. Veins throb and pulse to a pressure sustained by the purging of squalor and power.