Born beneath power lines heavy with Spanish moss, The Monkey Power Trio's 2008 extended play record spins out of Whitemarsh Island, Georgia. Called by the din, raccoons climb out of the tidal muck, gar jump onto the porch, cockroaches come out from under the rug, and a young woman leaves her place in line at the supermarket to witness the marsh-edge session. This animal energy surrounds and lifts the band above the snails and reeds to a distinctive musical plane where the vigor coalesces into song.

Winifred is a consummate pop tune about consummated love; it will top the charts. Fall in Hate picks up where consummated love leaves off and rocks hard enough to slough the skin of the past right the fuck off. In this reborn state, the band envisions the songdream of an awkward adolescent whose deadly mistake is redeemed only by the open-armed love of Buxom Angels.

Over time, though, the animal energy is dissipated and deformed, mutating the simple desire to communicate into a Frankensteinian Telephone Hand, leaving an evolutionary vacuum for the moss to take advantage of; it drags the power lines down and the session must end. Not, though, before the band has blasted a sonic pulse back through the history of rock, wasting legends and myths, and tearing down the Parthenon.