C***z write songs about their lives, other people’s lives and all the dumb shit that happens. When asked to describe their music, the best summary is “weirdo punk”. They swing between sharp, driving, straight up loud punk, and a slower, sleazier, occasionally hopeless post-punk type deal- and all of it is drizzled in a thick layer of goading irreverence, with a sprinkling of disdain. They are at their best when keys are involved; they make things ooze a little more, with a sort of grimy and frantically hypnotic Suicide sound. Lewis’s guitar playing is a dexterous evocation of emotion beneath Ben’s monotone non-screaming voice (though the screams at their most impassioned portray a huge mass of energy, fury and desperation). Topped off with Dom’s sludgy bass tones and drummer Mike’s serious-as-all-hell drum style, everything they do is essentially an in-joke (they even have a great cover of “Insect Woman” from Tim and Eric), and the informed listener can choose to either get it or be put off by the irreverence. C***z are dedicated to the hoon, and dedicated to supporting each other in their own respective hoons, and they don’t care what anyone thinks about that.