A killer dose of scrabbly post-punk, where the emphasis is clearly on the punk. Spare, brittle and impossibly tense, Marrowbone sound like they could have arisen at any point from 1978 to the present. The guitars jangle, rattle and stab, kept in check by a pushy, Warsaw-esque rhythm session and draped with incessant, air raid siren vocals that’re equal parts Au Pairs and Sleater Kinney. It’s raw and needling, somehow managing to ensure you’re constantly on edge while at the same time absolutely unable to turn away.
