The Peacocks robustly blast through thick chunky slabs of unruly punkish rockabilly belligerence on this here skull-skewering platter of sonic stir fry! Hot damn daddy, it’s all-at-once smooth, suave, raucous, cacophonous, and killer-cool! These swaggerin’ spark-sizzlin’ songs are aurally reminiscent of Social Distortion, The Screaming Blue Messiahs, Southern Backtones, Johnny Cash, and the devil-in-hell himself… and they salaciously conjure degenerate images of souped-up pavement-shreddin’ ’57 Chevys, switchblade-slashin’ alleyway scuffles in the dead darkness of a crime-ridden metropolitan night, flamin’ snake-eyed dice, grease-saturated brylcreem-encrusted ducktail coiffs, chug-a-chuggin’ freight-train solitude along a vast moonlit sprawl of American “wild west” desert, Lady Luck lasciviously struttin’ her stuff buck-ass naked and all in your face, pin-up girl tattoos, lawlessness, sin, decadence, debauchery, and rock’n’roll rebellion. Hell yeh, The Peacocks maliciously make Swiss cheese outta my ears, and I’m cretinously cravin’ more, motherfuckers, more!
–guest (Asian Man)