Our new album "Days Like Razors" is finished and is on the way from the extra rad people at Ascetic Records. Official street date is March 2008. More info soon.

Brace for the retarded media blitz.

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Get Destroy review from Lollipop
Ya know, the promo sheet on this one's pretty right the fuck on. Yeah, they throw around heavy-hitter names like Mission of Burma and Amphetamine Records, but why not? Hell, shoot high guys, thank fuck they're not in it to be mediocre. The compositional/functional/found-noise/skronking guitar hum and strained/hollering/bewildered singing are still intact. This seems to be their "voice." Everything's sharper, tenser, and wound tighter.

For me, they link up hot-wired no-wave derived amp-scree with rock'n'roll impulses that shoot through fellas like Mclusky, Morsel, Mt. Shasta, the Means, and, well, the whole scummy, fertile pond of Skin Graft Records. They're Americans that can't help themselves: They're gonna rock in a culturally genetic way. Thankfully, it's in a personal voice, although I wouldn't mind hearin' 'm wack a Link Wray cover around. Last rec's "Black Helicopter Unit" pulls somethin' like the beginning of the Beatles' "Tomorrow Never Knows" (their best tune ever) for a lift off.

Pick to click: "Fake Skyline." It's got the kinda clamp-down hook you expect from a guy who'd sharpen the hook on the end of his fake arm to make it really stick when he decides to jab ya. It's as good as "Signal Jammer" off Poison Rays. That's notched up there, buddy. - Craig Regala

Get Destroy review from Aiding & Abetting
Surprisingly tuneful, even sprightly noise in the finest no wave tradition. Imagine U.S. Maple as a dance band and you might begin to get the idea.

Or maybe not. There's such an offhanded, loose-limbed feel to these bouncy songs that it is hard to believe they are as scraggly as they are. There aren't that many melodies, but the rhythm section throbs like mad.

An exceptional sort of racket. The production is surprisingly complex and subtle, weaving all sorts of noisy threads together into the songs here. At times, it is tempting to think what you hear is what you get, but often enough something else comes burrowing in behind. I like that.

Smashing. Simply smashing. I'll admit to being a big fan of noise with hooks--but hey, isn't everyone? Well, maybe not, but those of us crazy enough to enjoy this sound know that GPS has shot the bullseye this time.

Get Destroy review from punknews.org
This might just be the most aptly named record Ive heard in quite some time now. Get Destroy is the name of that record, delivered to us by the Sonic Youth-inspired Gravity Propulsion System, only System are even more loud at times than their predecessors.

Low on the vocals, heavy on the feedback, the trio of Bryan Baxter, Mark Owen, and Lance Pellegrini proceed to bend sound and create new noises for over half an hour, really stretching the mind on whats really acceptable as a song. They might not be quite as adventurous as their inspiration, but they sure as hell follow on the same set of tracks. The squalls of guitar and maelstrom of noise are awash in waves upon waves of reverb, sounding like ungodly things are being done to the guitar.

There are no conventions followed whatsoever, no rules of whats acceptable and what should and shouldnt be done, just a complete, unbridled, free-form mess. No song illustrates this in a brighter light than the thirteen-minute album closer, Time Decay. The first two minutes or so consists of jagged rhythms and disjointed shouted vocal delivery, all over the fuzz-laden heavy distortion in the background. The vocals are loud, but tuned down in comparison with the guitar, drum, and bass, which are all firing with reckless abandon. After that two-minute mark is when things really start to become interesting.

Led in by a thick, chunky bass-line and that continuous reverb, the guitar comes into a limited role to start with, eventually rejoined by some very distant sounding vocals, until around the eight-minute mark, where everything breaks loose, and all the instruments just meld together in this noisy, amorphous cluster in which nothing can be differentiated. Its the musical equivalent of mixing every single shade of paint together, only to end up with a uniform gray. The chaotic nonsense works well for the band though, and the sounds and volume only intensify as the duration furthers and the tunings drop, until reaching the frenzied apex at around 11 and a half minutes.

Not every track has quite the entropic feel of the last, but sprinkled throughout you can find all of the elements that made those thirteen minutes so memorable.

I hope Thurston Moore is out somewhere listening, because this record has done him and the rest of his band proud.