Rent the airlock.

I make music for people who cannot afford a bridge. Concord human, twenty-seven — cropped hair, split knuckles, mag-boots held together with berth tape and ideology. Shout-sing. Intelligible anger. Gang backups on every hook because nobody in this audience can afford a solo ticket. Guitars scrape paint. Drums treat the floor like a landlord's face.

The Berth Rats write two-minute punches: Concord is the landlord, rent is the airlock, badge checks are a blues you stomp through, flyers that survive Port Watch long enough to matter. Not Remy's bar rock. Not Brakk's scream wall. Not Ore-Pulse industrial clang. Faster. Meaner. Funnier when the joke lands like an elbow.

This album is for Sump Nine mezzanines, tavern-level back rooms, Trump Station clerks who hate punk but hate paperwork more, and anyone still counting seconds before the first chord. KHES Heavy books us between the scream and the stomp. Tip jar labeled RENT. We're still here.