Pitchfork

This is how you open a track: Get your drummer to bang the shit out of his kit for four bars. Those seven seconds of Peter Prescott doing what he does best threaten to become one of this year's most indelible Moments in Rock. And then there's the rest of the song, which features Clint Conley taking his Consonant work and kicking it up a few notches. Which is to say, I'm not sure young Clint (or even somewhat older Clint) would have had the confidence or wherewithal to buttress the group's righteous sturm with some jingle-jangle la-la's. But some things never change: Roger Miller mangles his guitar, Conley rallies the troops, and Prescott keeps on flailing. His drumming doesn't deviate at all from the pace set in those initial moments, lending the song an unrelenting and alluring tension that can't help but whet appetites for the trio's upcoming record. It's the sound of marching feet all over again."