The thing about punk rock is that, for the most part, it sets out to make a point. Be it social, political, or even something of a slightly more philosophical or experimental bent. That's been my experience, regardless of the variable levels of musical aptitude offered alongside the requisite attitude. And while the Ebola Babies probably think they're punk rock - I can't think of any other excuse for their borderline musical ability - they offer none of the genre's aforementioned redeeming features. These guys don't even have the wherewithal to pass any notional humour test. If you think that's harsh, I ask you to consider these lyrics: "Show us yer knickers, do you want it hard, do you want it rough" (on 'Red Light District') ... "I didn't mean to sleep with this girl, I didn't mean to suck her tit, I didn't mean to lick her clit" ... repeat etc (on 'Tequila'). A puerile collection of tales about drug deals, caravan life, vampire sex, and gimp men. With a gravel voiced guy whose vocabulary rarely extends beyond variations on the F-word, screaming at us over a series of sludge rock dirges. And those lyrics are just tasters. A small sample of the depths plumbed in order to sate the band's apparent need to try to shock us. I don't know what sort of "music" fan is likely to want this self-titled debut, but it's not likely to be anyone you know. Well, hopefully not anyone you know. When all is said and done, this album is crammed full of horrible, no filter, pre-pubescent misogynist crud trying to pass itself off as something worth listening to. Don't waste your time.