"Loud and personal," is one of the ways that lead singer/guitarist Nathan Hussey describes ALL GET OUT. Generally when a band is self-described as loud, imagery of guitars propelling distortion and mood over the audience is the resonance to dwell on and personal is not often the conjoined description. Loud has always been the cryptic way to say a band likes to hide behind blankets of fuzz and hard... to decipher symbolisms that keep the players of the song at restraining order distance from the audience. With ALL GET OUT nothing is hidden; everything is personal; and loud.

All of life's ups, downs, triumphs, ditches, and valleys are in ALL GET OUT's self titled EP. Songs like, "Come My Way", are filled with hopeful guitars and melodies then swoon and swim in a way that are not to be forgotten. And then a song like "Wasting All My Breath" holds nothing back while dealing with death and assigning blame. These quick changes from hoping for the serene to dealing with sucker punches that come wrapped as gifts is what life is about, and that is what ALL GET OUT is about—the mess of life. Being personal is never a clean paint by numbers affair. It's about the chase, the fall, and getting back up without checking on your own cuts.

Death On Two Wheels makes rock ’n’ roll dangerous again, with slurry-blurry lyrics, half-cocked dreamspeak of portents and regret, and a formidable guitar attack that recalls the nasty duels Allen Collins waged with Gary Rossington before Skynyrd’s final plane ride. Following the same bumpy trail as Kings of Leon, this Atlanta foursome seems to be in pursuit of darker mysteries on the band’s self-released debut. And unlike the Kings, they have more range and a greater reverence for ’70s classic rock, not to mention the eccentric bite of vocalist Trae Vedder. Could he really have been christened with such a propitious rock name? No matter, he has the same grit and red clay in his voice that Chris Robinson had before he got famous and complacent—but there’s something even more disturbing in Vedder’s delivery that almost veers into goth. Especially on a song like “Bobby Havis,” which shudders with psychedelic anxiety. It’s a song so haunting it could’ve been penned in Rose Hill Cemetery next to Duane Allman’s headstone.
- Jaan Uhelszki, Paste Magazine