__________________________________________________

When I think of Thee Whiskey Rebel, I think of poison – the poison pen he uses to ‘splain the art of redneck justice in wrassling and rock n’ roll in the various and sundry mags and rags he’s written for, and whatever the poison in his belly (“whiskey”, I’m guessing) is that helps him dredge up the musical bile that is his (and his Missus, Marla Vee's) band, the l-o-o-o-o-ng running (est. 1981!) Rancid Vat. RV have been around and back again over the decades, and this current incarnation, as the title suggests, is what it sounds like when Reb and Marla settle down in Texas. Imagine that, they are STILL as pole-cat mean and biker-puke skuzzy as ever, even in their nice, sunshine-y new neighborhood. The Vat sound was, is, always will be skeletal hardcore punk with a small but greasy dose of shitkicker country to add a little flavor. Reb grunts a lot and sounds like El Duce, and quite often the band seems so nauseous and full of self-loathing that you can almost see ‘em all imploding in a spray of cheap beer and rotten guts before the rekkid is through. “We Hate You All the Way From Texas” has the expected noisy odes to lunatic wrestlers of yore (“Nature Boy”, “Portrait of a True American Hero (The Bruiser Brody Story)”), a few choice covers (Sonics, Ramones), self-aggrandizing odes to turning your face into hamburger (“Hatred is Sacred”, the title track), and one druggy headfucker of a space-metal song, “The Frozen Dead”. All of it – unless yr innards are cast-iron- will have you heading straight for the medicine cabinet, in desperate search for Dramamine. Punk rock hasn’t been this authentically PUNK since, well, 1981. I hope Texas survives ‘em. __________________________________________________

-Sleazegrinder