Some more jaded music journalists might write off Baby Guts as an atavistic throwback to the bygone riot grrl glory days
of 1992. From the Kathleen Hanna-shrill shout to the rudimentary garage-y punk rock thrust of the music, this has
Pussywhipped written all over it. But to dismiss Baby Guts that hastily would be a crime, since they possess real power,
charisma, and a raw beauty. All of this shines through on first number, "Sea Salt," a raucous and vicious slab of solid
punk rock. In a minute and nine seconds they get in, demolish the listener, and get out. The singer vomits forth a
potently pernicious punk-fueled roar of cryptic lyrics. The music is as engaging and whiplash inducing. It's arguable that
no other song smashes as shockingly as "Sea Salt." Yet the record still boasts riveting highs, such as the dark magic of
"Molly Nicosia" or the bent shuffle of finale "Three Dollar Black Eyes." Add to that skyscraper-high above average lyrics,
and you have yourself a recipe for what could soon be one of the defining punk bands to ascend the stage (or the floor)
in years. The singer demands, "I wanna hear the anthems of the girls." Little does she know her potential for delivering
those anthems. (Casey Boland) verbicide magazine
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