Limited edition of 100 copies on white vinyl.

Highly recommended.

208 is a masochistic infernal vision, the beguiling duo that is Kyle Edmonds on guitar and vox and Shelby Say on drums conjure the essence of unconventionality, annihilating apathy by withdrawing the angst that inhabits all of us.

Obscured in devilish scowls and dark sunglasses, the duo summons the oldfangled spirit of Detroit's garage rock scene that their co-denizens like The Stooges and The Gories anointed us with. Legend has it Edmonds sold his soul to the Devil for prowess, and if this Johnsonian anecdote isn't tempting enough to peak your interest, giving them a listen will seal another, perhaps more deafening deal.

Ear-splitting tracks like "Red Cat", "Fountain", and "Stoned" induce what feels like an intense panic attack you don't want out of; these songs capture the same brashness as their live sets, that fittingly end with an volatile wall of abrasive noise, Edmonds eventually grabs each string with his blood-spattered hands and tears them off his guitar almost as to sacrifice his instrument to the demons brought to the stage.

Permanently barefoot, Edmonds flails around stage, roaring on the mic while Say remains impervious and unyielding, thunderously pounding on the drumset. Being turbulent, heavy and nearly inaudible is their thing, and this is why they rock. Self-described as "frenetic garage trash," even 208 understands there may be no reason to delight in their indecipherable music, but this perplexing paradox is exactly what is so captivating about them.