Bothers: S/T 12" (new)
Tune in, turn up, burn out. Fear not fellow traveler, BOTHERS brings you napalm daydreams for the dystopian present. How’s the treble? Maxed. Bass? Thick. Brains? Parboiled. Imagine Reis and Froberg squaring up for a naked knife fight, seven caps deep and frothing rabid, circa 1993. Faster than a dingo humping a power outlet, this is a front row ticket to the void that is your future. Fusing the best parts of WIPERS, X, and BORN AGAINST, they aren’t selling wolf tickets - this record fires all four carbs before spitting a melody in your eye when you least expect it. Is that analog delay or an intracranial hemorrhage? Does it even matter any more? All said, it’s the perfect soundtrack to throwing your boss in a fucking woodchipper.
Tune in, turn up, burn out. Fear not fellow traveler, BOTHERS brings you napalm daydreams for the dystopian present. How’s the treble? Maxed. Bass? Thick. Brains? Parboiled. Imagine Reis and Froberg squaring up for a naked knife fight, seven caps deep and frothing rabid, circa 1993. Faster than a dingo humping a power outlet, this is a front row ticket to the void that is your future. Fusing the best parts of WIPERS, X, and BORN AGAINST, they aren’t selling wolf tickets - this record fires all four carbs before spitting a melody in your eye when you least expect it. Is that analog delay or an intracranial hemorrhage? Does it even matter any more? All said, it’s the perfect soundtrack to throwing your boss in a fucking woodchipper.
Original: $13.95
-70%$13.95
$4.18Description
Tune in, turn up, burn out. Fear not fellow traveler, BOTHERS brings you napalm daydreams for the dystopian present. How’s the treble? Maxed. Bass? Thick. Brains? Parboiled. Imagine Reis and Froberg squaring up for a naked knife fight, seven caps deep and frothing rabid, circa 1993. Faster than a dingo humping a power outlet, this is a front row ticket to the void that is your future. Fusing the best parts of WIPERS, X, and BORN AGAINST, they aren’t selling wolf tickets - this record fires all four carbs before spitting a melody in your eye when you least expect it. Is that analog delay or an intracranial hemorrhage? Does it even matter any more? All said, it’s the perfect soundtrack to throwing your boss in a fucking woodchipper.
