Pitchfork

Just because they're freakishly heavy doesn't mean they're above details. Like, say, singing in harmony. The song's a little 90s and a lot 70s in its empty pummel-- a lot happens but nothing's going on. Its most snarling feedback, even its mightiest kicks, are devoid of rebellion or conflict. So I'm in the awkward position of loving the song but not the tradition it comes out of, i.e. the Guess Who, Van Halen, Wolfmother. When rocking's the end not the means, chops are assumed. Difference is, this trio exhibits rare rhythmic intelligence. They tear through acrobatic fills with immodest aplomb. More than acrobatic, the flourishes come unannounced and at paralyzing volume. But rhythmic intelligence itself isn't enough to melt this much face. Matt Whyte's ballsy vocals, the never-cheated transitions, the sly way the song switches to swung-feel for a finale and then quotes "Dig a Pony"-- that's the stuff that makes the flames extra fiery.