Re-issued rock'n'roll savagery courtesy of Philadelphia's loudest.

A record this which hardly pushes the creative envelope but which does succeed in providing the listener with some ear-bleeding thrills. The Brides take clear inspiration from the late 80's Pacific North-West - indeed the worst tracks sound as if they could have featured alongside Swallow on a 1989 Sub Pop compilation - where punks playing metal briefly ruled the world. Take the slow burning grunge of opener, 'Plank of Fire', and its Cobain with a poker up his ass, screaming (and ode to "non-stop masturbation"; you'll go blind!) as evidence of this debt. Reliance on such a limited genre often mires the Brides in sludge - see, 'If I'm a Man' and 'Elevator' - and it is this which is the albums greatest failing.