If I were a cruel person I might use words like flat, unimaginative, typically somber, or repetitive to describe this record. Now let me qualify that statement.

It's a restless meditation on—I don't know what. When I close my mind and try to feel the emotional landscape of the music I don't really see anything. Perhaps Urban Chicago on a rainy day, but nothing too profound comes to mind. Maybe Enter is about the cold banalities of Twentieth Century guitar music, but I hope not.

The name of the band made me hope for some kind of electrified post-Soviet Gypsy-Punk. Though this might be a regional miscommunication, the Chicago based band doesn't seem to have anything to do with Russia or its circles.

Seething, distorted guitars alternate with sparse four-note melodies, both punctuated by rumbling skins. There emerges a disturbingly predictable hard/soft musical dichotomy. Even the album art suggests light wispy ribbons of sound in stark opposition to familiar splashes of embarrassingly emo-esque ink.

I guess I like the minimalism of instrumental work, but usually that means more inventive ways of playing guitars and drums. I'm sorry to say I don't think this record accomplishes that. Still, I bet the band is cool live. I bet they wear sweet outfits.