Whether or not these three tornado topers might be landlocked lubbers from Colorado, Texas or Northern Nawleans they ain’t jivin’ when it comes to their tilt-a-whirl title. Surfin’ sandstorms on husks of Voodoo vapour trails they shake several bales of sin out of their stripped down swagger. While songs like ‘Jack Ball’, ‘Hauned House’ and ‘Barbed Wire’ might have been sired during some beach party bacchanal skinny dipping session they cruise on some near crippling shambolic wave more akin to a juiced-up jet ski, surfing atop the downtown bus on the way to the bar, not after. Or, more likely, fastening a skipping rope round the bumper of a car and roller-skating down the street.

Largely instrumental and ploughing furrows in line with Link Wray and The Cramps such B-Movie bowling alley banditry ain’t borrowing ideas, iconography and irony. Alongside the Duane Eddy toreador of twang and Huevos Rancheros cocktail-and-cheese Chiquita whistlers ‘Slow Walk’ is a lovely Spanish (moss) stroll that could do to linger a little longer as it’s kinda Johnnie Allan Cajun-ola mojito jivin’ mint cheroot smoking cascade; ‘The Bull’ is an ostentatious fiesta spectacle, Johnny Thunders 1985 as a twinkle-toed torero; ‘Guitaro’ is, as you might expect, the enchilada jambalaya deluxe combo for two, three or however many’s your pleasure in one sitting and the Mexicali Mariachi Rockabilly endeth not there. ‘Good Bad Ugly’ rides in six shootin’ six strings and, lest we get too ‘Wanted Dead Or Alive’ laconically lays waste to poodle posers in poncho’s like a whole new genre of video games for Hepcats and RockBillies. A mighty fine filigree of savage surf and refined rockabilly ravages. They have a fan, who also pushed a few buttons, in one Alex Chilton. Perhaps they’ll storm in mustang-like and push a few of your buttons and make you fans, or faint. They’ll definitely make you pant. Then it’s up to you whether or not you keeps ‘em on or joins ‘em in the surf.
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- Stu Gibson