Get on your raggiest shoes, scruffiest jacket and head down to the dirtiest bar you know. Then plug your headphones in and stroll out right into the middle of the room and put this rocking gem from Sweaty Palms in your ears and let the music take your body wherever it needs to go.
So raw you’re bound to get some kind of food poisoning, this is proper DIY and not any of that other nonsense – here you’ve got music that’s primal, honest and one hell of a mess. And it’s brilliant. It smashes more violently than Bruce Banner and Gordon Ramsey in a kitchen cook-off, rampaging more powerfully than the late Jake LaMotta and swirling up to a cacophony any of the bastard hurricanes and storms that have been hitting the world recently could ever dream of. Hold on to your hats because things are about to get pretty vicious up in here and there are sure to be boots flying at all kinds of unreasonable heights until well into the early hours.
Utter, utter chaos. Lovely stuff.