Predictable tension-and-release songs from this San Francisco quartet, a band that calls to mind the glory days of emo with such enthusiasm that, for a moment or two, you feel like you’re back in 2005, your ragged pink and black wristband soaked in sweat and someone else’s energy drink. So impassioned is the music that you can almost see the digital meters rise and fall with each word that leaves Brent Walsh’s mouth, each indistinguishable strum of indistinguishable guitars, and each bash of drums that may or may not be sampled from other albums. You can almost call up the ProTools files on your own mental monitor––it’s almost like you were there for every prefabricated moment. It’s true, though, what the title of this record tells us. Karma never sleeps and neither do machines, hence we can expect about five more records like this in the next 10-15 seconds.