I’d be lying if I said that TOYS THAT KILL didn’t have, and rely on, a dependable, bafflingly sturdy, formulaic style. Todd’s trademarked caterwaul, on top of his manic, monkey-mantra music, all with the same tempo and perfectly planned breaks, sandwiched between Sean’s more adult and smart songwriter-ish punk, gets a slight little twist with every release, and their shit somehow seems to never get stale. I don’t get it. It defies physics, and this little five-banger has left me wanting more, just like everything else they’ve done for the last dozen or so years. It’s still absolutely fucking killer. IRON CHIC, on the other hand, got lost on me. It’s pretty melodic, bearded and tight black t-shirt-clad (I assume), delicately growled type stuff. My appreciation for dude rock is light handed at best, and while you do get a few good whiffs of the ARRIVALS and that GRABASS CHARLESTONS/DALE AND THE CAREENERS LP—which are absolutely stellar examples of the genre, mostly—it just sounded like the rest of the stuff that makes up the majority of this sweet-yet-gruff bro’s handle on the style.