Urge Overkill
Saturation

THE REVIEW

If you've arrived at the weekend feeling tired. If your head is full of superfluous things. If your mind is empty. If you want to turn everything off. If you want to unleash yourself with a '70s riff, at full blast, inside your orange Ritmo going over a hundred an hour (really), on the highway, with the wind in your hair (for this part, I recommend waiting until May), I have just what you need. You just have to find it (it's not as easy as it seems), unwrap it, put it in the player, and you won't let it go. At least for the weekends I'm talking about. Your Ritmo speeds away while the speakers blast the first song at full volume. Song? Bomb! A slicing riff will hit you straight in the forehead, messing up your gelled hairstyle. At this point, your foot, instinctively, will push the powerful machine towards 120 km/h... The smell of burning rubber. The elbow, like a lateral spoiler sticking out from the window, tries to keep your monster stuck to the asphalt.

The groove of "Sister Havana" is phenomenal. '70s, Queen, Kiss, Cheap Trick, Grand Funk, Ted Nugent, Boston, and Nirvana (but happy) in a single smoking cauldron. To understand what our guys are made of, skip directly to track number 7 and endure the first 4 seconds, then give me an answer (don't get the numbers in the wrong order). What did I tell you? Now your Ritmo rumbles furiously along the highway to the beastly chorus. "Tequila Sundae" sticks us to the imitation leather of the seat, leaving us breathless. But we're young and continue unwavering, straight as spindles, with "Erica Kane." Big guitars, bass, rolls, drums, screeching, stink (of what this time?). You won't believe your eardrums. But does this music come from the grunge era? Positive Bleeding?? The head, with rhythmic and rocking movement, back and forth, typical of rockers gone awry, makes your hair flutter in the cramped cabin, whipping the horn covered in deer skin. Grayish smoke comes out of the beloved car's rear with the typical aroma of barbecues gone bad. The ride is over. And the splendid, dissonant "Dropout," an anesthetic ride, makes us relax pensively (I exaggerate), admiring dumbly the miserable remains of the unwary little creatures that unfortunately met with the transparent windshield of the now fluorescent car, in the wine-red light of sunset…