The Sworn Liars - Vile Device
Gloriously sulfurious surf-a-rolla through your solar plexus from these German gourmandising gruelzillas. A jolly Dead Kennedy Cool Germ jerk hatchet job of horrorpop spewing plasma rays in yer palm springs, babes and blobs from a barbedin-brain basement bunker that sure is about the best twenty minutes you could have without breaking your back. In the catastophically over-clogged cess-pool in need of some certain sonic dismemberment that is the whole corpse-paint crowd these ditch-dwelling Devo-looters rage as they schizophrenically eviscerate goth on a bed of it's own Germs, chuck up Dead Boys out of B-52's, burn all your Damned flags black while filling your flagons and boots with bile. Casting off with a long over-subscribed descriptive clod of chainsaw guitars has scarcely felt so ecstatic. Awesome goresome everywhere, lots of bilge for your binge-brown there, for once more Big Neck provide the derangement break custom-made for your crushed cortex.