The guttural snarls of a vicious, rabid vocalist clawing at your throat. The crisp, punchy cadence only a live drum set could conjure. The penetrating, sharp-tongued lyricism spearheading songs covering topics most are too afraid to speak up on. With California’s RACE CAR, you get absolutely, positively, UNDOUBTEDLY, fucking none of that—not unless you consider songs about go-karts and in-school suspension to be “touchy”. No, you instead get four steaming, shitspeckled hot ones from a wannabe cowboy—RAYMOND aka SHRINK RAY—armed with nothing more than a drum machine, twang-loaded guitars, various mechanical noise-makers, and more importantly, an intense hankering for SPEED. No, not the amphetamine, I’m talkin’ SPEED: Race Car’s customary unit of measurement for HOW HARD HIS MINI-GAS-GUZZLERS TEAR UP SUBURBAN STREETS. Believe me, the quirky, garage-y nature of these pastoral earworms won’t detract from how much these songs’ll rip up the highway to your earholes, “hombre”— these records might as well be soaked in gasoline. Unlike Raymond’s later project, S.B.F., you’re not gonna want to expose this four-track EP to an open flame. Grippin’, rippin’, and straight-up scorchin’.