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LOVE DRUNKS
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An unholy as it has to be and fascinatingly frightening abomination of Jon Spencer, John Robb and Jackson Jackie O gasping for air like a man half drowning for pure kicks in the bilge of his own DT petrolhead world, automatically jump starting engines all over town on his gasoline grimacing breath on which float car crash cut-up lyrics like Faulkner raised up again and resident in the tar-smeared swamps of the South...this is slovenly, scummy and siniciously slutty, the sound of moss spreading and engulfing wild-life already suffocating from all these shacks that keep shaking and splitting asunder all atop of 'em, but thankfully this vitamin deficient barstadised brew of 'Billy ain't a slavish set of precise pastiches but an unhinged madcap pick-up truck hurtling thru the desert to jump the Grand Canyon. This here record would make models and mingers mud wrestle in a mixture of Thames toilet water and waste from a landfill site like it's in the innate collective unconscious of Kant's wildest Freudian fuck fantasies, but these boys'd chomp merrily away on the chips, cough up giant phlegballs laced with coke, chicken skin n' bones and bawwwwwl 'NEXT!', one hand for a beer, one for the next dancing desperado who wonders why she can't help but deliver her dapper derrier to these dynamos of dribblin', droolin' DrunkaBilly. But then the Love Drunks would hop out of this hooch hell of their own hollerin' and haul ass on the gas to their beloved dear sweethearts cos y'know even the most deviant tosspot has a sombre country heart seeking solace and sweet n' tender deliverance. Hmmmm, apart, it would seem, from these swamp swilling drink spilling dram-busters. _______________________________________________________ |
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-Stu Gibson |
Quite
possibly the only band comprised of people who knelt at the altar of the
'Church Without Christ' from 'Wise Blood' and had their already addled
minds further fermented in fornication and feline cattin' around when
accepting communion in real blood diseased with some kinda scabrous sonic
syphilis causing 'em to mature into streetwalkin' preachers handing out
leaflets of lust n' loose moral-ed litany from leopardskin suitcases
before winding their way home to be preyed upon mantis style by Lux and
Poison Ivy.