Don’t be put off by the label on the cover. Yes, Who Let The Dogs Out, the debut from UK punk outfit Lambrini Girls is, in fact, “Party Music For Gay, Angry Sluts”. At its bass throbbing heart though this is pissed off punk and post-punk executed with dance floor precision that resonates for anyone who’s had enough of where we are culturally, politically, and/or religiously. Or if you simply want to slam your head around and dance like it’s the end of the world. Lambrini Girls are angry, but they make sure they’re angry to a propulsive beat you can shake to, that’s for sure.

Opening with the sounds of sirens, it’s not hard to decipher the ire each of Who Let The Dogs Out (itself a mocking strike as the toxic masculinity inherent in the Baha Men album name): “Bad Apple” is a killer rapid-fire attack on police brutality in Britain, its blown out bass sound going some long way to referencing The Prodigy in my ears. Singles “Company Culture” and “Big Dick Energy” address the toxic culture inherent in the corporate workplace and with guy in general, and “Company Culture” in particular has a great driving ascent in its verses.

Speaking of driving, the band itself now is composed of Phoebe Lunny on vocals and guitar and Lilly Maciera on bass and background duties. Assisted by Jack Looker on drums and handling the production themselves, they make sure every track has a hook and release to allow their lyrical rage to stand up front in the mix. Lunny’s vocals are all snarling fury and spit; originally y head went to peers like Amyl and the Sniffers, (listen to “Jerkin'” for example) there’s an abrasiveness and darker post-punk edge with Lunny and Maciera’s approach, more 80s concrete and less 90s electro indie rock a la Elastica. The album burns through its screeds like lit gasoline: the Ramones’ blitz of “No Homo” slams into the personal look of starving yourself in “Nothing Tastes As Good As It Feels”; the feedback accompanying narration of segue “Scarcity Is Fake (Communist Propaganda)” lulls for an instant before charging into the obvious but entertaining low-end attack of “Filthy Rich Nepo Baby”.

It’s a blaze at 11 songs in 29 minutes, closing on three of the album’s strongest tracks: the menacing and dissonant riffing of “Special Different”, the expansive and forward thinking “Love” before crashing our hearts and minds with the wonderfully titled “Cuntology 101.” I’m surprised it hasn’t already become an anthem for the disenfranchised and marginalized everywhere – it’s primed musically to be an instant banger. As a now-52-year old white guy am I crazy? I love the beat, the synth lines that pulse around the steady drum beat, and how simple and direct the dance overtones are.

It’s Cuntology 101, bitch. I guess that’s as good a place as any to leave this review.