Thursday, February 26, 2009

The Matadors
Sweet Revenge

‘It feels like someone parked a Buick in my mouth…’ – Buzzin’

Don't worry your cider-saddled, gin-groping, whisky-wailing heads that the above statement is a direct result of skating with Satan, tis just Ontario’s unholy Hell pooch Hooch and his Lucifarian Brotherhood of Baphomet returning with a further disembowelling instalment of Demondrunk Horrorbilly as a follow-up to their Horrorbilly 9000 masterpiece. Contriving to cast jinxes, hexes and curses at the crawling cowardly sniping types that have conspired to beset his grand designs on global dominations, sending ‘em to some purgatory for pusillanimous pussies, which he then gatecrashes to whip ‘em with some drink-swiping Satanic doo-wop and sauce-sluiced serenades like Little Bit Of Alcohol, Faith In Booze, Drunk And Drivin’ and odes to coffin-fit females on That’s How She Died and I Love You When You’re Dead, all marinated in a humour both as dark as the devil’s doorknob - and as tongue in cheek as the one of those - (‘Chokin on a cack that’s how she died’, ‘Let’s get you out of that box and out of those clothes’). It can’t be denied that the guy knows his stuff too (or, maybe it could but then your liver may start secreting bile from your eyeballs), digging back further than many in the gamut of ghoul rock to incorporate charred country such as closing chaser I Lied and swinging blues That Kind Of Love and Hooch (a man who ‘casts an enormous shadow for someone who’s only 4 foot 11’ due to his allegiances) and his current cabal can play, well, like dudes who sold their coal black souls for seven chances to be sick in the back of Satan’s cab. While it may not reach the astounding stair-dismantling depths of it’s predecessor, Sweet Revenge is a plush, high-backed n’ classy manifesto to be seduced by, savour and maybe dance on a grave or two for, furthermore, it’s an infernally feral fist of fun indeed.
Stu Gibson
Aces & Eights
Aces & Eights
Raucous

'I'm a son of a bitch but she don't care
I fell in love with her cold black stare' - Gypsy Rose Lee

Well, there be some kinda chaos ‘cross them thar hills. Leeds racket-eering ruckus-rousers Aces & Eights took some time out from barking absolutely at stars as yet undiscovered by the strongest telescopes and ever so discreetly managed to knock off not only the song of last year but many a year in the affecting cruel moon cry of You, Me & The Black Cloud (Honey) and along the way have finally brought something different in their seismic swag-bags of swill to the pyschobilly sewer in the shapes of garage grooves hollowed out of padded cells by the inmates, stir-crazy skiffle and frantic chain-gang decimations like Sermon of Reverend Black and Babydoll that owes more to the lusciously ludicrous, diabolically divine cerebellum-harvesting hooch hollerings of Th’ Legendary Shack*Shakers than the skag-happy stains of psychobilly stalwarts such as Demented Are Go or Chuck Harvey’s various incarnations. Teetering on several precipices of pleasure and ecstatic descents into bedevilment, which is exactly as it should and must be and all too scarcely is, you, me and the whole damn calamity can rest assured that they’ll sure as a scalpel slicing skin take you and your house with them and your hollow heart too. Stop, look and listen for this seven-track stampede is a real monster session (and not just for having a brake-failure-on-a-downhill-slope Bo Diddley stomp called The Creature That Ate Sheboygan) may well be where the legend really begins. All you armchair urchins out there get out from under yer seat and buy this, instantly.
Stu Gibson
Las Pistolas
The Legend Begins
Raucous

Londonista roughouse renovators Las Pistolas are showered in similar oil-field residues as Reverend Horton Heat and old ‘Billy brawlers Long Tall Texans and have an engine of mad mambo swings and tarzan rhythms that run on whisky pistons and punch-bag riffs that exceed any accusations of same old same old on driving distastefully ditties Jekyll & Hyde, Feelin’ Real and Do Or Die, like they’re the Devil’s valets who’ve just taken the old one’s ride for a quick spin. This little six-pack that goes down in fifteen minutes may not actually herald the start of a legend but is no old lag.
Stu Gibson
Buzz Campbell And Hotrod Lincoln
The Best Of...
Raucous


Over from the US comes Buzz Campbell, who is neither an astronaut nor B-movie horror flick regular, but a purveyor of sprightly, slinky rockabilly with a definite Stray Cats swoosh and strut about it. Indeed they supported the ‘Cats on their farewell tour late last year and Mr Campbell is now a fixture in Cats’s bassist Lee Rockers band. This compilation rounds up nineteen tracks about cars, girls n’ booze from their four albums and quite a delightful affair of big-boppin jumpers n’ jivers, hillbillied hotrod, hemi and blue moon balladry it is too. While it’s hard to get away from the silhouette of the Setzer quiff and kak tatts (Red Lipstick) as it is the Reverend Horton Heat (Five Bucks And A Pack Of Cigarettes, Too Drunk To Drive) in these circles, Campbell is certainly no pedestrian in the picking stakes, and successfully splashes his palette as shades of The Mavericks or Dave Edmunds on Runaway Girl and country clinks glasses with the rockin’ on Stay One More Night, You’re Gonna Lose and honky-tonk high roller Words By Heart to Blue, which is the sort of Rick Nelson / Billy Fury ballad Chris Isaac excels at.
Stu Gibson
Lisa George And The Pedalos
The Devil Said Shake
Raucous

Lisa George and her boys, meanwhile, gorge on the garden paths treaded by Patsy, Wanda (apparently meeting with the approval of Ms Jackson herself) and perhaps Peggy Lee, but with a voice to suggest the currently continuing soaring success of Imelda May is as much a matter of circumstance than outstanding specialness (ok, aside from having guitar god Darrel Higham onboard) and one that is deserved of this lady as much as it would be Marti Brom or maybe Devil Doll stateside. Shaking the tree to cull peaches from the forties and nifty fifties she may indeed do but self-penned single Blue-Eyed Rockabilly Boy, the title track and guitarist John England’s Chuck-a-billy bopper Keep On Pushing stands above and beyond, and wags a forceful finger at, standards and such as the Burnette brothers Touch Me and Hip Shaking Baby The old ones may be the best but there’s enough here to suggest future outings wouldn’t be worsened by them stepping out with a few more originals. A clear case of DO shake me Lucifer.
Stu Gibson
Tokyo Cramps
Monster Session
Raucous


The Tokyo Cramps do exactly that and toast The Cramps in a beguiling Japanese berserker style all their ownsome, and somehow sort of manage to sound even more unhinged than the rust in grease Lux Interior on Cramp-sick classics Dames Booze Chains And Boots, Bikini Girls With Machine Guns and Cramp Stomp alongside traditional Cramp-ages of Shortnin’ Bread, Surfin Bird and The Way I Walk. The mayhem monitor reaches further into the red by it being frequently unclear whether Elovis Interior is singing in his native tongue or English, or just spouting phonetic approximations of the words. The fact that the live ‘LSD’ side has three of the same songs on suggests this is a fun-house hoot n’ holler, side project or novelty curio but a worthy one, and not just in light of Lux’s recent passing. A wider (monster?) selection of tracks would be interesting.
Stu Gibson
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