With an immediate slop/savant aesthetic that conjures a drooling, drugged-out and agitated ball of putrescence, Mess Folk keep their blurry message straight to the point and deliver three devastating punk cuts simmering in anxiety, depression and the delusional inner turmoil that sets in after months of cabin fever. The deranged, discombobulated vocals go so perfectly with the frantic razored guitar slashings and choppy songwriting that eeks out resemblances of discarded Electric Eels and Urinals ruination/infatuation, radiating with a sticky familiarity you just can't quite put your finger on.