Hot damn Hades, these musical spaghetti-western scoundrels possess all of the ferocity and fury of a Texas-sized tornado relentlessly tearing across the sun-baked sands that eternally blanket a vast hellish stretch of Old West desert country. With such descriptively evil titles as “Fistful of Demons,” “Dirty Sanchez,” “Hang Me High,” “Man with No Name,” “Bloodshot,” “Bandito Sunrise,” and “To the Gallows,” Ghoultown’s 19th Century electric outlaw songs vividly conjure “wild west” images of tumbleweeds, tequila, vigilante-style lynchings, and soot-covered ghost-demon cattle-rustlers blazin’ down the unending dusty trail that leads straight to Hell. Yippy-tie-yie-yay, this is rootin’-tootin’ goth-tinged Texabilly debauchery at its darkest, drunkest, and most decadent; the kind of bone-rattlin’ sonic scariness that’d incite two lone gunslingers to square-off in the deserted streets of Tombstone at high noon. Their menacing, whiskey-parched eyes fearlessly squinting in the unrelenting glare of the scorching summer sun above and their gnarled, callused fingers nervously twitching within a hair’s breadth grasp of the triggers of their trusty ol’ six-shooters; the imminent stench of death lingers in the air. Aw shucks, I’m gonna now sit back and guzzle yet another mug of beer, attempt to smoke a Clint Eastwood-style cigar, and fervently listen to this here deviant lil’ disc until I’ve fully paid my dues to the devil. Ghoultown has branded my hide, tanned my backside, and left me for dead. Boy, do I ever like the rough stuff, gawddamn!
–Roger Moser Jr. (Angry Planet)