New Zealand's punk scene might be one of the most underappreciated in the Western world. Here one of its progenitors rip through a incendiary set, with frontman Chris Knox alternating searing rage, flippant disdain, and seemingly-accidental bouts of showmanship.
The band nails the balance of sloppy couldn'tgiveafuckism and technical mastery, banging out a hooky, rollicking suite of 25 thrashers, stompers, and boppers, the whole tangled lot of plummeting earthward, threatening to break apart at any moment, trailing melody and musicianship in beerlight contrails 4.5/5
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