With six tracks in as many minutes, Streets of Rage are a throwback to the DC hardcore scene. Essentially one man and his iPod, Streets of Rage sound like a digested ‘Our Band Could Be Your Life’ with pop edges chamfered and traces of pseudo-grunge neutralised.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the new shit. The shit that matters, that grows from the cracks in the pavement and ends with a deeper, more conscientious scene.

Or I missed the point.

Opening track proper, ‘Hater’ is a callous mismatch of Minor Threat and Big Black, only without the underlying misogyny of proto-industrial Albini. Approaching this unprepared is a dangerous business; Clark delivers his lyrics with bilious fury – each line spat as unrelenting as a machine-gun fire, and with an unceasing aggression that makes Henry Rollins seem mild mannered.

Yet it’s not all about fury, Beat Your Kids is a blitzkrieg dictat, laid out in unquestionable clarity. From the waylaid beginnings of ‘Hater’ through to the relentless ‘Nu Jazz’ this record is not a compromise – it’s fucking brilliant.

‘I’m Gone’ begins with a syncopated beat, before being buried by a guitar line pursued by a tsunami; it’s as rough-shod as it is relentless. Clark’s unbridled punk is fresh in its primacy, swinging quickly from one reference point to the next this is an act that truly deserves to be seen live.

Clark’s fury coupled with the tape hiss evokes a time when music was purer; Streets of Rage’s aesthetic is the lasting impression here. Fuck the clichés Beat Your Kids is short but great. It’s honest, it’s effortless and it’s very fucking cool.

Will Metcalfe