(Estrus) www.estrus.com
"A midlife crisis put to music" howl the liner notes. Crikey. But listen, bring em on especially if it's done this gloriously and jubilantly and not a dreary middle aged drudge of west coast schmaltz or horrible po-faced angst ridden twaddle. The nearest this feast of furiously loose limbed, mouth frothing rot comes to a mid-life crisis is the acknowledgment that they ain't gonna be huge stars and have "a wife, kids, and bills to pay". It's choc full o' sluiced up slices of sharp, spiky, angular, punked up R'n'B imbued with the wild, fervid frantic trashy early Stonesyness like fellow Texan rawkmeister trash troubadours the Sons of Hercules, or a dribblingly adrenalized slimline Royal Trux being yelled at to cut the crap by Van Morrison in his early Them days. These are roughhewn diamonds shining in the sea of garage pig swill drivel - rampant power pop like Stiv Bator's Disconnected days, or early Barracuda's, or Billy Childish (but better) - and have an essential spark of wild rabid abandon that sets them apart, nodding knowingly to The Last Time, and My Little Red Book, the singer in spectacularly bilious mode grinding words out like the world's about to end...oh it is, but that's another song. Anyway, you getting the picture? Well, the bigger one is that this is pretty goddamned righteous stuff, lo-fi garage trash as it's meant to be...unhinged and wired....another frazzled classic in the Texan hall of fame.