They call it the blues, but Becky Black just sounds pissed. Her frenzied, paint-scratching vocals are easily the highlight of this album: there are moments where she seemingly loses the ability to form words and settles for a bestial snarl. When she has to shift register for the slower jams, it doesn’t quite convince. In a raucous live setting, The Pack A.D.’s simple riffs and sloppy percussion could build to a violent climax; here, the listener’s eardrum is spared by more complex numbers this duo don’t yet have the chops to pull off, their potency undermined by inflexibility. They’re tough, but they need tendons to go with that muscle.

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