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THE DEAD BROTHERS
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Dead Brothers are puppetmasters patrolling history somewhere between ‘The Master And Margharita’, Burroughs ‘The Place Of Dead Roads’ and Uncle Tom’s ‘Black Rider’ album, cracking evil rictus grins at the pontoon table where your innocent ‘Hit me’ turns over the Hanged Man. Mythic, malevolent and fucking marvellous, coming soon to a dimension near you. ________________________________________________________ |
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-Stu Gibson |
Swiss
Hoodoo jazz corpsegrinding Romany Country Blues a go go and gone here from
The Dead Brothers. Sounding suitably disembodied like Tom Waits
hosting a ouija board channelling the spirits of Hank Williams and Django
Reinhardt but actually with ouija wires crossed getting a hellbent n’
hellbound mafiosi style family of sibilant soul snatching gypsy vampires
snakes (‘Trust In Me’). Who happily turn out to be mordant
musical geniuses (the whole album, dammit!). Under this big top carnival
there’s floating spectres of ragtime, oompah, East European folk, gris
gris and singing cowboy sea shanties swooping and soaring like the opening
of the Ark in Indiana Jones Raiders film...Waits the sWitchbladeDoctor
leading a marching band of the dead into a neverending nightmare before
Christmas (‘Pine Tree Box’)...Parisian nightclubs in the
thirties, serenely decadent and dead-eyed...the waiters take your order
and your soul...to remind you that you’re already dead, daddy-o...over in
the corner there’s the protagonist from ‘Crime And Punishment’ in
purgatory for his misdemeanour...curtains swing open to reveal the
burlesque beauties and belly-dancing babes there to complete the seduction
into the deathly realm (‘Mustapha’, ‘Just A Hole’)
whether a fresh-faced fish outta water bank clerk or a suave, debonair
dick about town.