When these super-bleak postpunks from Leeds, England, yell, “Fester! Blister!,” they don’t just sound ragingly bummed. It’s like they’re encouraging a wound to grow – the way some people talk to their plants. On songs like “Soulless Youth” and “Hollow Visions,” singer George Mitchell bellows like a nihilist drill sergeant over wondrously ugly guitar, scraping against a maniacal drum pummel that recalls art-thug Eighties acts like Killing Joke (whom they covered on a recent single). The Eags are at their best when they bump into a memorable melody, as on “Tough Luck” and “Possessed” – 120 Minutes-worthy blasts of hate certain to get shit popping next time you find yourself rocking out in an abandoned North England coal field.