There are a million reasons to make music — most of ‘em pretty fucking lousy, which is why we’re up to our  these days in musical “product” that’s entirely devoid of love, joy or inspiration. But even at this precariously late date in our civilization, not everyone is content to make (or listen to) aural landfill; there are still bands lurkingout there in the shadows that make music because they have to, who see freedom where others see dollar signs, who play to tap into the beautiful chaos of the universe, who can harness the power of the almighty riff to channel and exorcise their demons simultaneously. 
 
Raw, throbbing, pissed off, acutely alive and aware — that’s the music of Max Kala. The songs here rumble and scrape, jab and explode. They kick you in the stomach and smack you upside the head, and make you want to throw furniture out your window and maybe even knock over a bank. They remind you that there’s more to life than a dreary trudge to the grave, and that you’re better off putting your faith in yourself instead of God, country and/or the military-industrial complex. It’s uplifting and empowering stuff, spiked with wryly witty observations and moments of sheer, unabashed beauty. And the louder you turn it up, the better it sounds.
 
This is the shit, people. Accept no substitutes.
 
— Dan Epstein (Rolling Stone, Revolver, etc.)

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