Crocodiles make All My Hate and My Hexes Are For You feel gloriously scuffed. It is noisy, romantic, and just unstable enough to keep its charm dangerous.
The guitars smear into a wall of fuzz, the drums punch through the haze, and the vocal sounds like it is being broadcast from the back of a basement show. The distortion is the point, not the problem.
This one belongs to black denim, bad lighting, and the kind of crush that clearly knows better.
