Coachwhips
Bangers Versus Fuckers

A torture machine.

"Bangers vs Fuckers" is a delightful punk amusement park ride with quite a few attractions that leave bruises. Our (now) friend Mr. Dwyer, a great gypsy showman, along with his two filthy friends gives us a barrage of lashes that leave us no time for mercy. We are faced with a boulder.

People climbing, jumping everywhere, beer caps, earplugs, beatings, bruises, amplifiers screaming for mercy, skins beaten with mongoloid rage, assembly line dementia, primordial rhythms, 180 beats just like that, pain pain pain, agony, agonies, van, poisoned hotdogs, concerts in front of three people, concerts in front of no one, private parties, half an acid before starting the fire, skinned knuckles, screams in the night, rare moments of awareness.

And off we go: "Extinguish me" is a ride of the Valkyries onboard a tube amp splashed with 3 dollar rum per liter as if it were a breakneck singalong with shit in the brain. "I Knew Her" is a blues taken by the balls and thoroughly scrambled in a mayonnaise of blood, mouth harmonica, and fuzz without any criteria. "You Gonna Get It" is a serenade to push the accelerator to the floor on a deserted road, dead drunk, cursing god, country, and family.
Then the rest: "The Alarm" waiting for the crash; "I Drank What" is the morning-after pill of garage punk. "Evil Son" is the bad trip that comes up, it's the hardcore you don't expect, it's the ultimate triumph of substance over form, the last subway without lights. "Purse Peeking" three chords played by a chimpanzee.

Finally, an honorable mention goes to what is the final music box of the album: "Good Night, Good Bye". 45 seconds of an endless suite that smells of feet, alcohol, lost loves, and a sideral distance from happiness that makes it so human and so earthly. The only breather of the entire album, the only illuminated clearing over blood-stained knees, worn cuffs, and the sticky mess of cheap liquor vomit on the shirt.

That America is also this is obvious. That the protagonists are the lives of the young on the kick-ass ride with fate, problems, and anger aired once for all is equally obvious.
But the Coachwhips lift the lid, scream, yell, vomit, curse and finally thank you for listening because you also listened to yourself needing your moment "Dance floor Bathroom". And let it be your explosion.

Thank you.