'F***ed Up is a rare band. They're a mutant strain of post-hardcore, arenapunk super-talents capable of reworking the strange and the beautiful into something cohesive, but never at the expense of their signature, addictive, furious entropy. They are truly a blitzkrieg of song and lyric. Is it work-shy and lazy to call a live record whose songs fl ow seamlessly into one another 'epic?' What if every track is a battering ram of rabid guitar, fugitive vox, death match bass and roaring drums? No matter how you dice it... one word won't ever be enough to explain a band like F***ed Up. All substitutions will pale in comparison to the experience itself. That goes for every blurb and every pixelated cell phone video out there. But... our record does the show justice. F***ed Up got their start as many often do, making the rounds on punk and DIY circuits in Toronto, around Canada and later into the USA. Punk is a genre known for it's velocity, brevity and politics, although here we have an almost complete inversion of those core traits: songs don't race the clock, mythology and storytelling weaving fully realized narratives, and a bipartisan set with a 100% approval rating.