The Medicine Dolls deliver kohl-stained post-punk mastery in A Compulsion To Ruin

Perhaps what The Medicine Dolls are best known for is their untameable energy and bite sized releases.

They churn out 3-track EPs with the sort of calculated fervour which unequivocally keeps both the band and the listeners going for the next.

A Compulsion to Ruin is no different. Streaking ahead at a breakneck pace, it’s over almost before it has begun. From the jagged, screaming disposition of “Covered in Filth”, to the eerie, haunting whine of the latter two tracks, their sound is raw and rapid – all ripped fishnets, wild hair and streaky eyeliner.

These guys were born from a series of broken bands, dreams, and overdoses. Their approach is a brave and roguish channeling of shit into diamonds, and they are unafraid to own it. It is a sonic cocktail of grinding rock, with haunting synth and silky vocals clinging to the sharp edge of the knife.

“Just like a kiss from a pacifist,” growls Greg Allan in the closing track. They are derisive and wily, unapologetically wild and deliciously dark. They are D.I.Y. drenched fervour and misfits toughened by the world.