There will always be a place for rough-edged punky spits of young blokes – and yes, it usually is blokes – that works like a soundtrack as you pass inner suburban share houses that you thought were derelict, and tend to smell of beer and various smokes. This is The Sinking Teeth's natural environment, and across this they get some of their angst out. Sometimes it works: Tongues and the self-explanatory closer Temporary Living are rightly righteous, but elsewhere their grumpy sounds feel a bit forced, although would likely still work in a correctly sticky carpeted live environment.
