Picked this up sight unseen purely because the label had put out records by Chain Whip and Bootlicker, and it certainly does not disappoint. Imploders hawk up five tracks of ultra-snotty hardcore that harks back to the genre’s earliest phase – that awkward, punkish patch that was all greasy hair, bad skin and sour, unexpected smells coming from damp, hidden places. Guitars are scratchy and abrasive, vocals are a series of sneering hoots and hollers, and the whole thing sounds so cockily sure of itself that you’d definitely want to kick them in the pills were their short, snapped-off blurts not so painfully on-point. Fuckers.
