Lady Skins

Audibly bristling with dissent, this three-piece’s noise-flecked-post-hardcore-meets-stoner-punk is an exercise in stockpiling frustration and releasing it in jagged bursts. Metallic spasms, bottom-end gunk, unyielding drum battery and meaty hollers are all realised in the kind of succinct, simple structures that countless bands of a similar ilk lose sight of in favour of month- long breakdowns. Each offering on their latest EP feels like a race to the three-minute mark, most of the tracks in question falling short and collapsing in a heaving heap. But through the dense claustrophobia glimmers an unshakeable knack for a swinging groove that’ll drag your head down to your knees and back again, meaning they’ll have you ricochetting off the walls if you slip into a dank, low-ceilinged club to experience them live. Chest-caving stuff.