As angry as the smoking gun of an unborn son, Speedealer's songs are situated somewhere between the evil southern rock of Cocknoose and the thrashing velocity of early California hardcore. Whereas a band such as, say, Nashville Pussy might try to approximate the experience of the rural shit-kicker through the use of caricature only to go home whining about royalties and being shown up by better bands, Speedealer doesn't necessarily give off the perfume of any particular social strata or experience. Nevertheless, you get the impression that the band members got screwed over by someone somewhere, and this music is their collective howl of drunken indignation. Also on blatant display will be the "great big bad-ass rock & roll" of Champaign, Illinois' Tummler and local berserkers Warthog. Don't expect any sympathy for bleeding eardrums or an elbow jab in the eye from the idiot dancing next to you. Just enjoy it while you can.