One of the creepiest of all Big Black releases, after Jordan, Minnesota, of course. Great first effort and sign of things to come from one of the most important bands in American history.

This is pure nasty, lo-fi, greatness from the man who would go on to produce Plant and Page records. Steve's cynical wit is at its raging heights here with the trashiest beats since Suicide's debut.

Who cares if there's a drum machine? It works fine and even amplifies the beautiful mess here. This kind of music is fuel.