The opening salvo "Moonshine Alley" announces the band's intentions with admirable directness. Pato Sepúlveda's Iommi-schooled riffing provides the gravitational centre around which Charly "El Pulpo" Lowry's surprisingly nuanced percussion orbits. The drummer's funk sensibilities—drawn from Parliament's cosmic grooves—prevent the track from collapsing into metal orthodoxy, while Checo Ruizesparza's vocals carry just enough McCartney melodicism to keep proceedings from descending into mere bluster.

"Galatea" reveals the band's more contemplative side, built around an intricate lattice of three acoustic guitars that interweave with mathematical precision yet emotional warmth. The track's mellotron-assisted finale achieves genuine cinematic sweep without resorting to bombast, suggesting a band comfortable with dynamics beyond the traditional loud-quiet-loud template.

The title track "Vice Market" proves the EP's most adventurous moment, anchored by Ignacio Alvarez's serpentine bassline that recalls the best of Latin rock without appropriating its surface textures. The groove locks with infectious precision, demonstrating how classic rock's DNA might adapt to accommodate different cultural inflections without losing its essential character.

Produced with analogue warmth by Paco Lazo and Andrés Lavalle, the recordings capture the band's live energy while allowing space for each instrument to breathe. The production choices—reversed harmonica snippets, mellotron textures, multiple guitar layers—feel organic rather than calculated, the natural outgrowth of musicians exploring their sonic palette rather than ticking genre boxes.

Captain Mantis have created four songs that function both individually and as a cohesive statement. Vice Market suggests a band unafraid of their influences yet unwilling to be imprisoned by them—a promising foundation for whatever follows.