Building on the jagged sonic middle-finger-to-the-world that was the Why? EP, Discharge bang out their magnum opus. Every song a protest song, guitar tone dialed up to chainsaw intensity, newcomer Garry delivering the patented samey-on-purpose percussion, and Cal hollering endlessly like a freshly-woke vagrant in the tube. It’s a record that sends metal-obsessed dirtbags and bristle-haired anarchists to the same apocalyptic nirvana, driven to smash glass and break furniture by Bones’ wailing solos washing over choruses that clobber the senses like a tack hammer.

A seminal link between first and second wave punk, Hear Nothing is political without sounding preachy, heavy without being metal, and stripped-back without sacrificing chops. There’s a chord economy on display (much like Never Mind the Bollocks Here's the Sex Pistols) spot-welded to clever, straightforward lyrics like “Hot lead rips through flesh / The blood runs red” and “Kept in line with rifle butts and truncheons”. Makes it a record, a sound trapped in amber. Duplicated a thousand times over, but never eclipsed by anyone including Discharge, it’s the essence of pure hardcore punk boiled down to one incredibly bitter pill.