Like the resounding crack of a lashed lithe of leather, Winnepeg’s Whip careens out of their recording space with the group’s first-ever vinyl release. To say the band’s material was “worthy” of the ol’ Neckchop™ wax treatment would only be selling it short. Etched within these grooves are what some would consider to be the essence -- the absolute epitome -- of the punk rock spirit, something that is honest to its role as the idiot savant of rock subgenres. Something that exhibits both near-ineptitude and borderline-brilliance with simplistic, often-times repetitious riffs that have no business being as invigorating as they are, with a frail, limp power chords to contrast the vocalist’s genuine frustration with the world around them. Something that is direct, immediately absorbed, and promptly punishing to every fiber of your being, regardless of whether it was deliberate or not, all while pulsating with an attitude that regularly shifts between shades of “I-don’t-give-a-fuck” and “I-REALLY-don’t-give-a-fuck”. Just bratty, puerile, transparent musical expression: When it comes to Whip, you shouldn’t expect anything different. Guitar tones bruised and prone to bursts of jittery, bouncy riffage and pulpy basslines tailored to the toe-tapping rhythms, all of it perfectly complementary to the group’s bold female lead. Seeing that this EP not only makes roaring returns to songs previously featured in the band’s three preceding tapes, but also introduces a fresh dollop of raw, hook-laden laced with an ever-so danceable tempo, you truly cannot go wrong with these seven inches of Whip’s unfledged fury. Not unless you’ve got downstairs neighbors, that is; they tend not to be very fond of impromptu pogo sessions.