Running elbows in quick from the City of the Big Shoulders with Wake Up Applauding. Delivered loudly, dripping in unintelligible menace with the occasional flash of dark humor, their bathtub mixture of dope-sick guitars claws at your purse, ramming into an unhealthy sense of propulsion and repetition that seems chemical, unreal. This is villains-plotting-evil kinda punk, mutants in the sewers emerging and wreaking havoc. Mothra shorting out high-voltage power lines and melting, screaming, onto a fleeing populace. Corrosive, driving, repetitive, pissed off, these guys deliver that evil cruisin vibe, tight and pushing 100 but with just a rotted off stump of a hand grossing everyone out and shifting gears..