From the off, the four members of iForward Russia! rip against each other; fractured and percussive guitar stabs are cradled by the most pounding rhythm section imaginable. It’s liquid dance in punk masquerade. They are the spiked ball on the end of a giant mace, but sharpened sharper than razors. The singer spazzes out relentlessly, hypnotically, voice never waning as he wails and hollers. A mega-quick banshee, a perfect frontman. My sobriety is irrelevant, I’m fucked on music and stomping my feet - Drowned In Sound.
With a review like that what more do you want.