The power of great music often rests not with things as obvious as musical skill or crisp recordings, but rather with an ability to imply grandeur through sleight of hand. If Mouthful of Bees' debut album, The End, had been recorded a little better, if Katelyn Farstad's drumming were a little more tutored, if lead singer Chris Farstad's broken tenor were not half-drowned by cascades of overdrive—if the band were a little more polished, its music wouldn't be half as fascinating and seductive. You can hear the air in the room on quieter ballads like "Jessica," and you can feel it being vacuum-sucked out of the room by the towering intensity of "Under the Glacier." The album as a whole sounds like a staggering accident, fueled by adrenaline and heartbreak. But then chaos and happenstance were good enough to birth the universe, right? With a median age of 19—and a live show as explosive and shambolic as their record—Mouthful of Bees have already got what most bands never find: a conduit straight into the stuttering, bleeding heart of rock 'n' roll.