Sorry for the delay. I seem to be using my extended burnout as justification for weekend trips up and down the California coast these days.

I’ve seen the Miles, a classically scrappy San Diego rock trio, about five times since they formed in 2018. In that time, their song-to-song style has veered between hefty-swag-packin’ garage blues, Camaros-style doomericana, Shame-shreddy post-punk, college-ready riff-rock, and well-executed Motown covers—all with an inexplicable, radio-suited warmth.

As a live band, they’re capably brash, urgent, and almost too-cool-to-care. Michael stalks the stage, slinks off the stage, and leaps from equipment like he’s got the crowd cornered, daring it to move so he can pounce and rip its collective guts out. Meanwhile, Sammy V. maintains his traditionally disaffected bass-commando composure, holding it down with increasingly impressive vocals (and the occasional well-timed howl)—all while Kieran drums like a manic-swinging storyteller who knows something his audience doesn’t. Admittedly, the visual components of their sets are almost as much fun as the music itself. So, when I had the opportunity to pick their live album up on a trip to San Diego last weekend, I jumped at it—had to see how well the experience translated. Thanks for the CD, Mike.

Transplants Brewing Company in Palmdale, California was the last stop on the Miles’ fall 2021 tour. There, they threw down a good selection of songs—some that were newer as of this recording, like “Teeth” and “Silo.” While the latter trudges impressively through a smothering garage-blues swamp, the former is simply one of the Miles’ best songs—an unsettling Devil In The White City medical horror story, fully shredding, dance-club-on-bad-speed sinister, with freakout vocals and guitar tone I can only describe as “righteously in pain from a runaway dentist’s drill.” Just after that, “Sunday Night” introduces us in choppy, clattering, laser-shred fashion to Kieran’s frantic prowess on the mic—and as the rhythm section rumbles under him, you might find yourself wondering “does this dude have his own separate Bandcamp or something?” Trust me—you’ll be grateful for the spit this one flings in your face.

It’s still great to hear classic Miles airplay favorites like “Hell Outta Dodge,” but truth is, “Barrel of Monkeys” is still the sparkliest diesel-fueled greaseball gem on the whole album. No other song in the Miles’ catalog has greater potential to unite the hordes of late-night college radio party animals, indie rockers, jam band fans, and classic rock dads around their urgent “the world needs better rock’n’roll right now” thesis. It’s a merry-go-round of a track that leans heavily on Mike’s riff, but then takes a brutal left turn into righteous political rage, like a social justice sucker punch delivered right as the band passes you the joint. And somehow, out of nowhere, it becomes a Temptations song before motorcycle-revving back into the chorus riff.

Above all else though, one aspect of the Miles’ live show is still clear: At their best, and whenever allowed, these dudes play fucking loud. It’s a wall of distortion and groove delivered with the force and mathematical precision of a controlled building demolition. Check ‘em out.