Like a John Holmes spoot shootin’ all over the room, this band of bent and bawdy buttholes makes a mightily magnificent mess kicking the corn-crusted crap out of the Gun Club and the Immortal Lee County Killers with delirious disregard for regular rules of fidelity and finesse and fancypants fashion. Nine noxious nuggets of blues-punk bombast blast, bug-eyed, through turgid trash-heaps and straight-up sonic sadism, leaving lacerated lollygaggers and weeping windbags in the wake of the aggravated aural assault. Also, Pete’s from the Chicken Hawks.
–doug (Welfare)