Feels hits all the right notes to rope in the cult of 90’s slacker cool, dredging up some Breeders pangs, mixed with a kneel at the altar of early Nirvana sweet n’ scuzzy songwriting for good measure. The L.A. foursome have more than their fair share of barbed hooks hidden in this nest of fuzz pop tangles, but the kicker is production courtesy of who else but Ty Segall, never resting as usual, and pushing their poison soda punch to the max. Laena Geronimo’s sweet and sour coo draws the listener in and then draws blood, soaring just above the tumult below with confidence that’s palpable. Each time I return to this album it makes me pissed that they’re pulling off the formula so well. Its a record that knows it wants to walk in another era’s Doc Martin treads but doesn’t give a shit if you notice. I say that if you make a record that seems like the past was worse off without it, rather than just a scrawled notebook love letter then you’re doing something right. There’s definitely a piece of me that feels like I might have been better off hard charging this out of some bedroom speakers in ’94, but who’s to say now. I’m certainly better off with it on the speakers in 2016.

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