Dead Sentries play edge of your seat punk rock. It leaves you white knuckled and struggling for breath. You're disoriented and confused, peering hard through the darkness for any sign of that spine tingling growl. Your nails dig into the torn fabric of the creaking rollercoaster car and leave you checking for any sign of whiplash by the time the set is over.
It’s brash. It’s political. It’s personal. It’s loud and it’s fast.