Despite being perpetually too poor to drink dusted dive-bar drafts, Stockholm's Holograms still manage to projectile vomit their fare share of poison.

Their regurgitations originate more from the nausea inherent with menial labor in the desolate warehouses of Sweden than alcohol abuse; ultimately making it more enjoyable to sift through.

In defiance of their decrepit instruments (a collective estimated worth of a handful of Kronas) Holograms emit a seemingly impossible energy.

Their sound synthesizes the drudgery of dismal existence with a lust for something better; echoing both the violent abandonment of punk as well as some of the electronic gloss of early 80's new wave.

Their sound has proven far too large for Stockholm's charred pavement and empty streets; leading us to think it's about time for all of us to get a little drunker together.