Possessed hardcore from pre-onslaught Williamsburg. Vocals by way of End of the Century Party, which spells spite and frustration, but a clear eschewal of the spastic tactics that defined that band, Palatka, or other Floridian comrades. Total refusal, lyrically, underwritten by a furious battery harvesting the fruits of the '90s and spoiling them anew.
"Letter to My Psychiatrist"
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