KISSLAND is temporal domination. There’s not indifference but an effortless-ness which reflects a fat superannuation after many shifts on the punk assembly line. It’s a shame that those surgical guitar-drum licks are all too readily associated with the ritalin egg side of hardcore. There’s no synths or eggs in KISSLAND. Both’ve been blended and atomised into sparkly microplastics, chopped to train tracks and racked like pool cue. A single sneeze though and two songs have already passed ya by. This is as lean they come, a fifteen minute set condensed to seven – fills, reprieves and riffs placed into close-enough proximity to invoke the laws of quantum physics. The album flows with the ease of grog bog, accepting only the absolutely most essential cookies and getting the job done. Songs are consumed at a pace congruent with fragmented post-american attention-span. Befitting given that there’s no Instagram, no real promotion, KISSLAND’s latest begins at ‘Welcome to’ and ends at ‘Theme’, sounding unhappy about, but nonetheless for the time(s).