THE CREEPNIKS
Graveyard Shindig Graveyard Wax ________________________________________________________
The
Creepniks are a buncha dead fuckers from East Texas who play hollow-bones
freakabilly with so much more taste and distinction than the last 666
Misfits grave-robbers to shuffle up my driveway that they don’t even NEED
the groovy-ghoul angle, really. I mean, I’m glad they found a gimmick, it
makes t-shirt designs easier, but the ethereal, heat-sick, warbly,
midnight weirdo-ballads they bang out on this one are like Marty Robbins
backed by the Beasts of Bourbon Orchestra as conducted by Sergio Leone,
and all they were shooting for was 30 or so minutes of spooky Cramps-gunk
to sell at shows! Seriously, dig the sparse, dead-man-walking instrumental
“Pale Rider” and tell me you can’t smell sweat, leather, and Django’s
blood boiling under a hot Mexican sun. “Shadow over Elkhart” is one of the
few vocal tracks, and it’s a swampy deathbilly dirge that sounds like Nick
Cave’s scariest Birthday Party ever. And so on. Personally, I dig the
intro-mentals better, if only because the Creepnik on vox sounds like his
rotten larynx is just gonna drop right out of his ruined, leathery throat
and explode into dust on the floor, and that’s a little TOO creepy for my
tastes. But when it’s just the lonesome guitars and booming rhythm
section, these fellas will TAKE you places, Jack. Dark, strange places.
So bring a clove of garlic, just in case.
The
Creepniks are a buncha dead fuckers from East Texas who play hollow-bones
freakabilly with so much more taste and distinction than the last 666
Misfits grave-robbers to shuffle up my driveway that they don’t even NEED
the groovy-ghoul angle, really. I mean, I’m glad they found a gimmick, it
makes t-shirt designs easier, but the ethereal, heat-sick, warbly,
midnight weirdo-ballads they bang out on this one are like Marty Robbins
backed by the Beasts of Bourbon Orchestra as conducted by Sergio Leone,
and all they were shooting for was 30 or so minutes of spooky Cramps-gunk
to sell at shows! Seriously, dig the sparse, dead-man-walking instrumental
“Pale Rider” and tell me you can’t smell sweat, leather, and Django’s
blood boiling under a hot Mexican sun. “Shadow over Elkhart” is one of the
few vocal tracks, and it’s a swampy deathbilly dirge that sounds like Nick
Cave’s scariest Birthday Party ever. And so on. Personally, I dig the
intro-mentals better, if only because the Creepnik on vox sounds like his
rotten larynx is just gonna drop right out of his ruined, leathery throat
and explode into dust on the floor, and that’s a little TOO creepy for my
tastes. But when it’s just the lonesome guitars and booming rhythm
section, these fellas will TAKE you places, Jack. Dark, strange places.
So bring a clove of garlic, just in case.