I got­ta say i'm more than de­light­ed with the ver­sa­tile and smart and weird ways in which garage punk has evolved over more re­cent years but, you know, some­times i'm just crav­ing for some­thing more old­school and pri­mal. De­troit duo 208's new cas­sette on Painters Tapes does a fab­u­lous job scratch­ing that par­tic­u­lar itch, con­tain­ing the raw, prim­i­tive, sweaty and drunk­en blues va­ri­ety of garage punk, the kind you need to have a soul but no brain to ap­pre­ci­ate. Yeah, i'm aware that the soul is a pure­ly re­li­gious con­struct that has ze­ro ev­i­dence go­ing for it in re­al life. So let's say in­stead that you need a bro­ken soul­ful brain to ap­pre­ci­ate it, or some­thing like that, okay?. The fi­deli­ty of this is just per­fect, the kind of pro­duc­tion where heavy clip­ping both dig­i­tal and ana­log is a fea­ture, not a bug - a fuzz-saw man­gler of jams which might evoke com­par­isons to most­ly old­er shit like Obli­vians, Gories, Pussy Ga­lore, Feed­time, Reatards and what­not.