No wave atonality meets punk vitriol in a trash
compactor. That’s the hazard: you get squooshed. That’s the trash: you’re
force-fed it. The Sheen chomps down hard on it all and squirms around in it.
They gorge; they regurgitate. They are squooshed all up in the compactor. They
yank hard on those guitar strings; they blow hard into those saxophones.
Everything else is also played hard, yelled hard. The Sheen is covered in
parasites. They make music covered in parasites.
--Ryan
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