A thunderous cloud of humorously dark lyrics matched with tightened punk riffs
[a]Let’s Wrestle[/a] must be feeling smug. It’s not long since their magnetic slacker-punk debut and already they’ve got Steve Albini on production duties. He’s tightened all the screws on [b]‘Nursing Home’[/b], cranked and cleaned up the guitar riffs and limited the album to a more manageable 12 tracks (down from 16 on their first).
Lyrically, they’ve kept the sour cocktail of British humour and American apathy, but the suburbs they’re singing about are getting creepier. Singer Wesley Patrick Gonzalez deals with death with detached sympathy on [b]‘For My Mother’[/b], while porn stars haunt his dreams and fear of inadequacy stains his waking hours. It’s all strung together with punk-drunk pace and some properly good melodies. This is the real deal.