Published Apr 26, 2014An amp blew up. The Soupcans' set began with burning in the air before the thing got repaired and then the band destroyed other things like eardrums and folk music lulls. A beastly, guttural scream-sing from a guy named Dave anchored the band's hyper-rumble of pummelling street punk. All stomping, all the time, any dynamic emphasis jettisoned in favour of nothing but emphasis. So much squealing distortion and barking and crashing. The Soupcans are metal like the Melvins are metal. Less shredding, more thudding. It's the hardest, harshest, heaviest side of punk rock. It's two o'clock in the morning in St. John's and the Soupcans are calling upon the dawn.