Fireballs of Freedom 

Crotch Rockets
You can hear the Cracktorch-gone-crazy Super Rock frenzy of Fireballs of Freedom coming from miles away, like a souped-up Panzer tank hot rod belching smoke from it's exhaust pipes, like Rat Fink himself got a rock band together with Sacco and Vanzetti for a rhythm section. The late 90's fever dream of art school children in heat from Fargo, North Dakota, the Fireballs have gone from the squealing, feedback drenched amphetamine rawk of their early dorm room days to...well, they're pretty much the same now, only bigger, louder, and meaner than ever before, like the tortured geek that spent all summer listening to Danzig and lifting weights and plotting his revenge. Currently the cock strutting anti-heros of Portland Oregon's normally dour sour puss mope rock scene, the revenge scheme has finally come home to roost with the full on revolution rock powerhouse album "Welcome to the Octogan" (Estrus), which only a fool would argue with, as it plows, shirtless and black eyed, through the back alleys of rock and roll's seediest moments- James Brown with a gun, Johnny thunders with the needle and the damage done, Motor City going down in flames, and Axl Rose inciting riots for no good reason at all. Kelly Gately, Fireballs' singer, guitarist, and biggest mouth, knows exactly what I'm talking about. "We used to be all about the Slayer, Hank Williams, kind of Midwestern dudes completely out of control, but we were really close to Minneapolis, and all that stuff was like the predecessor for that quiet, indie, pouty guy rock, even though they were these evil loud bands. They were all these really cheesy, sensitive and clique-y guys, and I was like, Fuck, I don't want to live with these fucking people, let's head out west", he says of the band's left coast migration, between hustling Cappucinos at some recherche downtown Portland coffee house. He's multi-tasking, conducting interviews and paying the bills all at once. Nobody's a Fireball 24 hours a day, it seems. "Oh no", he laughs. "If I was a Fireball all the time, I'd be in the hospital. I mean, more often than I already am."

Although Fireballs of Freedom are often name dropped in the same whiskey befouled breath as sideburn farmers like the Hellacopters and Gluecifer, Kelly is quick to note that his band dips into a much deeper well than the Swedish freak force. "In any kind of art form, man, why create anything that's totally fuckin' predictable, and fuckin' monotonous? We just kind of live by that. I mean, it's not some kind of fucking creed, or anything, but it's just that I've always been nauseated when I see really formulated rock. We seem to get lumped into the 'Rawk' label all the time, but really, we're more interested in things like early Butthole Surfers, Six Finger Satellite, and Sun Ra, you know, weird, fucked up bands and noisier stuff. I mean, I still like rock, but to me, there's got to be more crappy rock than any other kind of music." True to their credo, live Fireballs are a maelstrom of "Super powered evilized metal to fuckin' crazy jazz", and lucky for you, citizen, they are headed your way. "You know what it's about?" Kelly rhetorically asks me when summing up the Fireballs experience. "It's about turning off your mind and letting your fucking heart and your fucking nuts take over." Right on, brother. Let Freedom ring.