Setting the pace with an introductory scream that reaches pitches matching those of the included sporatic feedback, the (reformed) Mutators’ debut 7” rekindles an energy I wasn’t sure I would feel again until the teenage years of my next life. As a recombination of minimal punk ideals, hardcore edge and tempo-change madness, this album is an at-home experience of being in the midst of a construction site and simultaneously feeling your mental structures breaking.

While diving into to the three track record, I found myself not knowing if I wanted to hack my hair off with the nearest sharp object, or drop everything and make violent love to myself with the anticipated bursts of audio insanity. With simple droning and drumming to pay attention to, the (somewhat) newly acquired vocalist, Leif Ambrosia, shrieks and screams his words so convincingly that I have no idea what she is talking about, but I agree nonetheless.

The Mutators may be too unconventional for those who view or listen to punk rock for its nostalgic value, though they’re still reminiscent of historical movements that have brought music to this point (much like everything happening). They are kind of like a banana: they don’t need the shit on the outside, have a delicious inner core and remind perverts of a big yellow dick. This album is one of the most satisfying I could have around. I am convinced that the Mutators are the type of band that will keep only the most honest fans around and bring tears to those who can see the importance but don’t have the stomach for it.