Growing up, I spent a couple days in Yakima, an Eastern Washington desert town that doesn't have a whole lot going on. I was 13 and there with my friend's parents, who were part of some sort of adult soccer tournament. While his parents played, my friend and I sat in their van, eating way too much soft serve ice cream from the nearby 7-11 and listening to stoner rock we learned about from his older brother, who lived in the basement and drove an awesome Camaro. I'm not confident that I actually liked a lot of the stuff we were listening to—even my favorite songs felt one-note—but we felt cool doing it. Wet Illustrated don't make stoner rock at all, they're not plodding, and they have vocals that sound like a bunch of hyperactive kids trapped in a garage with only a stack of punk records. At the same time though, that riff at the beginning is just heavy enough that it makes me think that I actually enjoyed a lot of that stoner stuff more than I remember, I was just looking for a little bit more. And by more I mean drugged up garage rock with semi-snotty vocals. Wet Illustrated have a record coming out on True Panther, you can order it right now.