Sunday Mourners are college and childhood friends tempered from years-long freak-folk wanderings into a razor sharp post-punk exercise in thrusting and carving. They can cut through any surface and environment, maintain a rough serrated edge through repetitive use, and only use the finest foreign products and materials. Flat wound strings, dry mouths, and brittle old cymbals recall the smarmy button-up design of lounge lizards like Subway Sect, Richard Hell and the Voidoids, and Television. Instruments that skewer a martini olive as easily as they pulverize a ham hock.