Punk bands that lack a half-naked fat-guy singer always disappoint. Luckily, Dillinger Four's Paul Costello, fits the bill nicely. Throughout a blazed-through late slot, he waxed hysterically and prettily caressed his ample bosom. He played songs, as well. Since long before a punk career glimmered in Fucked Up's Pink Eyes' regular eyes, Costello et al were churning out thrashed up, chant-along tunes. The long track record showed, as the four-piece - not just a clever name - symbiotically played tightly off of one another, trading meaty four-chord parts and snot rockets.