The foetid Sydney bloodstream spurting out once again, OSBO fire off five tracks of goth-angst madness on a release lathered with Lip Cream and baring its Fang. In possibly the only time it is acceptable to compare a band to Straightjacket Nation, the 7” flames off the back of its simplistic arrangements to deliver something sorely lacking from the sonic palette of the punk scene, a raucous melodrama of being wrong and getting on with it. Like brain-eating amoeba in stagnant water, OSBO worm their way into the shoes left by the giants before them to deliver a sordid tropical onslaught, Californized and ready to soundtrack the falsities delivered by Dec.West.Civ 4: The Sydney Years, a zombie-laden shot-on-video odyssey about whatever happened to that really weird kid from math class.