Detroit’s most unhinged and alluringly repugnant trio Toeheads (“it’s just Toeheads”) strike the perfect balance between untamed performance and ruminant composition. Their raucous sets reek of agitation, delirium, and sweat from frenzied mosh pits, making them positively unavoidable. The three piece subsists of the towering Jake Aho, whose uninhabited bellowing is as forceful as his guitar playing, the immovable and effervescent Joey Hanania on bass, and the brutish, unforgiving Derek Burbank, who somehow stays affixed to his drum set while the other two attempt to dismantle their instruments. Above all, Toeheads are lawless. Everything they do is vaguely illegal. Whether it be their DIY composition or untamed performances, they are downright felonious. If you’re not convinced their rule breaking is commendable, I suggest you partake in some illicit behavior and introduce yourself to bona fide garage-punk music. Toeheads represent the genre in the vain of their forefathers like Jay Reatard and Ty Segall, bestowing monstrous, impermissible anthems like “Human Song” and “Skubble.” Their fuzzy rock resembles the effects of amphetamines and hair of the dog, and just when you thought Detroit was on the threshold of demolition, Toeheads successfully salvage any lost hope you had in the Motor City and in rock and roll. If you ever cross one of them, buy them a drink or five for their service.