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THE URBAN VOODOO MACHINE
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“You’re a
Bitch and I’m a Bastard,
Still, I’ll always love you...”
‘No Bail Blues’ is an exquisite rag that Strummer would have wept weed for to have on ‘London Calling’, no more than a slightly updated jam betwixt Bessie Smith and that Django dude, a pied-piper call luring you in on a suave siren swing, suspicions softened as you’re welcomed in by the charming Mr. Ronney-Angel who takes your coat, ushers you in with a polite bow whilst trumpets innocently trace the lines on your palms for Tom Waits Romany doppelganger to read as you order a whisky sour before flinging you away to meet your fate as the band kick into ‘Killer Sound’, a brilliantined Birthday Party serenading a jazz age dinner function for unctuous luminaries more fucked up than F Scott with writers block, somehow sweeping the Brylcreem off the senors scalps to save for backstage purposes only dreamt of by their stiffly supercilious wives, now suitably charmed after a titillatingly lubricious “Last Tango” to the strains of ‘Love Song.....#666’ into wanton waitresses, whores and washerwomen. The soft spectral shuffle of ‘Alone In The City’ heralds the hold of the moon over our toxic troubadours, werewolves in very fine clothing, who take their leave before the ‘Police Paranoia’ takes full effect in Pogue-riddled Pucine-poisoned psychosis, not before placing a calling card somewhere about your sleeve just so’s you know you haven’t slipped into a ‘Shining’ esque alternate reality...
“No time
for confession I ain’t looking for Jesus...’ |
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-Stu Gibson |
This
approximately 16 legged Voodoo Machine are as gloriously rambunctious and
dishevelled as they are elegantly glamorous and dapper. Resembling
dimension straddling back-alley basement bar flies...hepcats, hound dogs,
honky tonkin’ hoodoo hogs, Andean shamans swooping the Soho streets, an
amorphous mass mingling in moonlight with distress-dealing damsels, using
haloes as urinals, sleeping ‘midst the angels wings, strutting through
their own gypsy carnival with vampiric haughtiness shrouded in authentic
Victorian smog.