Further lashings of furiously off-kilter Rock'n'Roll frolics from the almost too trustworthy to be true BN label. Make no mistake, these Michigan miscreants got the Damned, Dead Boys, Heartbreakers sleaze-addled discordance in its ascendancy but intrinsically it's the electrifying tension they've got in which they catch all manner of idiosyncratic rhythms & structures on their tenterhooks. Anything else they may have should be got with gluttonous regularity, like their habit of frequently flaunting a dazzlingly dissolute line in gonzoid guitar scuzz so squalid, insensitive &, well, stupid, as to be sublime enough to induce superstition. That they most often churn out cement mixer boogie & psych-ward skronk that'd make Zeke come over all quivery means that this is yours ever Stuly's favourite mess of dishevelled blues & fuckscuppered news since, well, Tractor Sex Fatality. Same label, go figure.