Fist raised out of storm water drain, shirt gets snagged as you hop the fence, giving the homeless fella a dart while having a dart, if ya gonna steal some shit may as well make it nice. Cutters long-awaited debut LP is gutter revolution and hardcore detritus, the sound of mutual and justified distrust, skepticism thrashed into the masses and thrashed onto a record. They’re undoubtedly anarcho, sitting somewhere between hardcore (I Hate The Public, Stale Bread) and the prolific local lineage of garage punk (Fist of Many, Gangster’s Dream), powerslides, chugs, sub-minute scorchers! As dire the situation is, albums like Psychic Injury is the music that gives you respite, (bolt)cutters and solidarity and everything else they don’t want you to have.