Fuckwolfs second album pares their scuzz-wave blitz down to exposed nerves: Eric Parks basslines stalk like a hangover pulse, Simon Phillips drums land like a palm slapping the alarm into silence, and Tomo Yasudas guitar wirings spit like diner coffee left to burn on the hotplate. The fog has lifted; the damage is inventoried. These ten tracks are crime scene Polaroids, tales of longing and woe, fresh mystery bruises and eulogies. Black vinyl.

Opened to display sleeve.