Toronto three-piece METZ are perpetually stuck on one setting—shoved beyond the red and into the white hot. Their music is akin to: a) being forced at gunpoint to shove your ears into a meat-grinder, b) the stress of figuring out how to physically get your ears into a meat-grinder, and c) having your ears run through a meat-grinder. Needless to say, there’s not much melody on METZ’s self-titled debut—these guys play post-apocalyptic punk rock that is as tightly wound as it is tightly played. Guitars slice mercilessly through the air and drums pummel with caveman vigor on the aptly titled “Headache,” and “Wasted” sounds like an outtake from Nirvana’s Bleach sessions. It should be noted that these aren’t kids (the members are all in their early-30s), and that the band’s unadulterated power is sophisticated and precise much in the same way metal can be. METZ don’t necessarily bring anything new—there are plenty of bands who have worked this angle before (Killdozer, early Helmet)—but it’s a friendly reminder that the perfect mix of precision and ferocity can still move mountains.