Guitar riffs churn. Drums take an unhealthy beating. The vocalist barks. In Spanish. Heads will bang. Findumonde don't bring anything new to the universe of recorded music, but their 20-minute set will slay from the stage. I envision this band playing festivals to the early-cuz-we're-unemployed crowd with afternoon sun still in their eyes, but that's perfect because somebody's got to stake out the pit perimeter and bring in the venue's beer money. Fuck the full moon. Wake the wolf now.