“Don’t know where I’m goin’, I don’t know where I’ve been But I’ve been awake since Tucson when the mushrooms kicked in…’ – Two-Wheel Sinner

Featuring ex-Demented Are Go members Ant, Stan and Eddie with a would-be crazy cat from Canadia on vocals you’d be forgiven for thinking that Thee Exit Wounds would be treading the same treacherous, splintered, rotten boards as many another PsychoPunkabilly parasites plastered in zombie gore and writhing spastically in plastic macs. But just as Demented essentially occupy whatever space Sparky’s head is in at whatever time his soul’s in then under this new Reichsmarschall Johnny X they create the perfect caustic cataclysmic concoction for X’s graphic novel ‘Fear and Loathing…’ take on hardcore Psychobilly. Coupled with the cartoon cover they manage to snap into character and become a Darkman-with-no-name meets The Hitcher in a Mad Max-style urban wasteland and decaying dystopia that they glory in, having the keys to the car with the case of cocaine to get the fuck out of there and race off into the radiation sunsets inhaling the suffocating smog like a skunk-monkey’s first toke of the day. So much so that in spite of it’s Cramps-y title ‘Preacher Of The Black Lagoon’ is more like early Gaye Bykers On Acid collaborating with Aleister Crowley, who Mr X may well idolise in his tales of drug orgy Dyonisian utopia. Tho beyond a Pulp Fiction descent into character he does unfortunately crossover into being mere caricature, trying terribly to be overtly more hardcore than thou in his cowboy of bacchanalia guise (‘Cause we all know life ain’t no fun / Unless you got yourself some whiskey and a loaded gun’) which suggests some sort of fucked up future as a scriptwriter for sardonic vampire westerns, especially if the ‘From Dusk Till Dawn’ slant of ‘Striptease’ is anything to go by.

 Yeah, as trumpeted X does have an uncanny resemblance to Jello Biafra, not just in the cover of ‘Police Truck’, but the music touches a lot more bases than plain old Psycho. Some bitumen burning boogie sears your eyes out that not even ZZ Top or Motorhead would blink at (the title track would fit in like a long lost drinking-buddy on any classic ‘Head record). The pedigree of the three ex-Demented dudes is more evident than the blood on the Church’s hands and shines more than the pomade on a greasers hair as the songs are custom deluxe draggers…just don’t expect to take it any more seriously than any other psychopunkin’ record, but have as much have fun with it as these fuckers do. And if you can’t do that, watch out, Johnny X is comin’ to get ya.
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- Stu Gibson