Introductions (ears open now; I only say hellos, don’t bother with goodbyes): Luke LaLonde, Mitch DeRosier, Steve Hamelin — three (3) hooligans, rowdy lads, rabble-rousers with guitars, plucking behind the nut/scratching behind their nuts. They hail like hail from Ontario, Canada. They eat stake and steak claims: RUFFIANS, claiming they came straight out of the vagindow that way. Here’s the feeling we’re getting (a feeling that throbs like puberty for the 15:58 this EP lasts): you want to hang with this band in their clubhouse (could be a tool shed). They’re friendly, but never nice enough to please your parents. These boys are horny (“Come into bed with me/ Take my virginity”). They want to sew their seeds in the hemline of your daughters’ skirts. They are the product of a one-night stand between Isaac Brock and Regina Spektor. There are resemblances to proto-punk in its angularity and neatness. We’re prepped, boys. Give us more.
More about: Born Ruffians
