If Mike Ness has been guilty of playing the "I'm-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks" schtick too heavy-handedly or with too much of a smirk this effort redeems him. He bares the scars on his life here with a sincerity that a younger Ness perhaps couldn't muster.This is a lifetime's sorrow and regret and anger set ablaze in forklift pallets and gasoline. It's you stropping your grandfather's straight razor all night long. It's a fresh slant six and a new supercharger. It's napalm.The title says it all. With a scowl, not a smirk.