Street Eaters is a two-piece band that manages to sound like four. They're also a garage band whose rolling, low-fi guitar rhythms occasionally sound like Surfer Blood, a pop-punk band that periodically dips into Melvins heaviness, and an anthem-and-crunch outfit that more than dabbles in the dreaded riot grrrl. If a sound has been made with guitar and drums and yelling, Rusty Eyes and Hydrocarbons contains it.
In other words, Street Eaters sounds like a couple of people who love rock. This constitutes a welcome change to a genre that trades increasingly on wry disdain, and it's the thread that ties Rusty Eyes together. John No and Megan March are sincere; when they yell-sing that there are two heads on your body, or that rising sun wakes up the eagle, they do so with the righteous fury of accusation. Maybe they're still messing with us, but they're not ruining it with a smirk. "I wish I could say that I'm the only one/ but I'm waiting here with dozens from the tens of millions," No sings. The essence of punk rock is that we believe him, even if it sounds a little familiar.