From the bowels of Rio Tinto, in the sacred triangle between the Soutelo Social Centre, McDonalds, the pastry shop with cakes that are too big, and Parque Nascente, sprang Cremalheira do Apocalipse, a drumstick to the teeth, and a crack in the daily routine of those who hear them, those who see them and those who make them. It is a machine that creates unclassifiable music that they feel like playing, together and with a clearly undefined goal. Armed with drums, keyboards, guitars, jerry cans and buckets, without ever slacking off, they emancipate themselves with this album of acid and prophetic messages. For those who are appeased by labe