I first saw the Swing Dings in my living room about four years ago. Somehow close to a hundred people had flocked to our pre-July Fourth party. Fireworks were going off inside the house. Jug wine was getting spilled everywhere. The walls were dripping and waves of people were going nuts. I somehow lost my sock, but not my shoe, during their set. The Swing Ding Amigos fit the scene perfectly. Spastic, fast, and so tightly wound—they have that sound that seems incapable of coming out of anywhere except Tucson. On the CD there are more melodies than I remember, and the songs have an addictiveness to them that had me listening to this album only for four days straight. I think my Spanish professor summed them up perfectly. I had asked her to translate the two songs in Spanish for me. After the first line she looked up at me shocked and said, “Megan, this is very bad. This is very dirty. And they spelled this word wrong.” I couldn’t agree more.
–megan (Rock’n’roll Purgatory)