Coconuts, as I have known them, cracking bunk PA's in NYC hovels, is simply inertia; steam-propelled on the hot guts of rock's past. They mainline into a legacy of pop obfuscation, in which sheer sonics and the sensuality of the guitar-as-tractor-beam blinds any sort of lyrical message or rock narrative. Their first record however, is a microscopic view of a band putting all the elements together to reveal something more subdued, more melodic. The sound is dire and low and vaguely menacing, like the pulse of an opiated Ritchie Valens slow dancing with the Dead C or the saucer-eyed paens of Japanese mopers The Jacks. And though the 'Nuts are lauded for their no-mind electric antic, their craft reveals a collective instinct honed over countless late nights of bleary deep listenings. This is a great psych record for all-time.

-Daniel Lopatin / Oneohtrix Point Never

Also known for their song in the Hotline Miami OST (Silver Lights)