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My
current mood in this sweltering room relates to The Black Halos “Alive
Without Control,” in that with every drop of sweat that rolls irks me
even more to tear through these walls and leather. To everyone who has
flipped me off, fucked me over, turned me on then turned me down; to
anyone who has discouraged me, or has improvised my art; fed me lies out
of their bloated mouths; overlooked my words without feeling my heart; I
hope you wind up as influence for songs on any of The Halos albums.
Whether your ultimate goal in life is to become a toothless barfly, or a
regular corner creep, The Black Halos will be on the barstool next to you
mimicking your life so uninspired. Give 'em four more years and they’ll
find you
still on the outside looking in, afraid to execute for the dreams that
mean the most to you. They’ll mock your blunders with just a tune of a
key, and kick you upside your head with glam-tread boots blacked out. And
rightfully polished on this greedy little label, we’ll find more sneering
glam tramps excelling from Liquor & Poker. If your time is left to
waste and ruin, The Black Halos will be there with thirteen tracks
to capture you in your drunken stupor. Unlike me, Billy Hopeless
knows not how it feels to have premenstrual cramping, yet knows how to
bleed his heart out through his vocals. Adam Halo might not be
sitting around in a wife beater pissed off at the Detroit electric center,
but he feels the heat yearning from inside his fans, friends, and fellow
rock critics. Vancouver are going to wish they never inspired unruly
kids to master their destiny using only their fingers,
because now double stacks are set on volumes high enough
to blast through the rest of The United Stinks and Canada.
And you all are going to be sorry if you let this album
slip out of your fingers, because it’s the best thing you
slimy hookworms had coming. Get hooked or stay boring! It
feeds their gas and guitar pedals all the more to get flooring.
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