This is not catastrophic cacophony, all right? Perhaps it is apocalyptic, but only because when the sound breaks into the moment it's gonna feel like getting kicked in the face. This trio of rockpirates is looting villages and dragging out the women while sweet nectars pour and spill from their gold chalices, goblets, gimlets, sweaty jams and sensual sauce. Listen to this dictation of Giraffeness and do it now! This sh*t is about being on point. Nobody takes this to Mommy and says "look what I did Mommy" because she's not gonna' say "that's nice honey". She's gonna' gasp at the madness and the intensity, the rock n' roll wrecking balls, and the sincerity will make her proud. This sh*t is pride music. It celebrates a need to rock without saying a damn thing about love. Nobody in this trio looks like a rock star or even likes Def Leppard or Whitesnake. Listen - we are in an era of collaborative efforts and epic collages. This music is hula-hoop guitar mixed with monstrous power grooves (ie Ventures, Minutemen, Blue Oyster Cult). This is so on point it peels away the static and rides a straight line. It is the straight line of passion. These guys are letting it out for us, and they don't seem to imitate anything. Art lies, yeah we know art lies, and they're all saying it, but what does it lie about if there is no place or person it claims to be about. There is no culture in this music, because if there was it would be lying and wouldn't have such an awesome sting. (review by Eric Fraser)