This is what John Boy and the rest of the hillbilly Walton clan would’ve sounded like if they’d subsisted on a steady diet of the Baldwin sisters’ firewater remedy while belligerently bangin’ their heads on keg barrels, furiously breathin’ life into an odd array of old-time brass instruments, and heartily pluckin’ and strummin’ a banjo, bass fiddle, washboard, and clothesline-stringed guitar. It’s moonshine-drenched mountain music magnificently mixed with jugband blues, riverboat cabaret, gypsy-swirlin’ vaudeville, theatrical oompah madness, and a foot-stompin’ knee-slappin’ hootenanny of robust rural rowdiness. Hell yeh, a whiskey-swiggin’, tobacco-chawin’ aural shit-stirrer! It’s as if a demonically possessed Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, an inbred bluegrass Bauhaus, a snaggle-toothed, Deliverance-style Tom Waits, and a more criminally insane, Southern-fried Split Lip Rayfield all met at the devil’s crossroads in Depression-era Mississippi while conjuring beastly hellhound spirits in the pale glow of a full moon exactly one minute past midnight. The resulting cacophonous clash awakens the dead for an entire eternity and then some! Man, this is hypnotic, magical, rustic, and full-blooded American; a sonically spectacular freakshow carnival that endlessly titillates and delights the ears!
–Roger Moser Jr. (Monotone Management)