Zonked out country punk thrash from Italy.
If you think that much of Americana is these days, just a tad prissy, then this amped-up thrash cowpunk crew from Italy might be the antidote. There’s no polish here, just bare-boned, scraped and hollered songs, lopsided and all the better for that. Their press release says they are “primitive-punk, Gun Club marshlands, country sadness and acid-folk that sways from the rays of light of the Vaselines to the dawn comedown of the Meat Puppets” and, weirdly enough, that just about covers it.
The album, short as it is, ranges from stoned thrashes such as on the closing six-minute song, ‘Disappear’, which is like a Syd Barrett nightmare painted large as if performed by the Velvet Underground while they were still in kindergarten (and for anyone unsure, that’s actually a recommendation), to demented Italian blood stained ballads as on ‘Macabro’ and then full-bodied guitar workouts on ‘Hobo Talks’ and ‘Can’t Talk Can’t Sleep”. For sheer immersion, you can’t beat the swamp-like voodoo of ‘OD’ which drills into the listener’s brain with its throbbing guitars and pile-driving percussion. Crank it up loud for some primaeval thrills and welcome to the jungle.
