Hüstler are really making all the right moves. Hooking folks with a savage and spotless demo earlier this year, they've wasted no time in cranking out the follow-up- a capricious and audacious mating ritual of Alien Sex Fiend and the uncivil punk-thrash of Warthog, a riling experience that will force-feed adrenaline into your system with the menacing proficiency of a '90s industrial record. The drum work here stays on beat with a fatal and furious finality- like each slap of the snare is driving a nail through the lid of a pinewood box with the tip stopping just short of the furrowed skin of your forehead. The guitars sound saturated with malice, taking their time to set the mood and give you a taste of fear before peeling a souvenir of skin and fat off your chest with a sharp shave of a dexterous, flaying solo. And then there are the vocals, which sound like they are being regurgitated by a man who has not had his prescribed medications in a fortnight and whose only gestures at modesty are a garter belt and a pair of mismatched, blood-soaked afghan socks. Hüstler are an example of outrageous hardcore punk, that is equally eager to shock as it is to amuse. A chaotic breakdown of societal boundaries through rough sonics and enough of a wink towards spiritual peril and congenital criminality to convert parsons into atheists and fans of GG Allin into abstaining shut-ins whose only hobbies are playing Animal Crossing and listening to recordings of sea breezes. Will Hüstler's self-titled EP change your life? Maybe... if it doesn't kill you first.
