Scissorfight’s singer looks like a ZZ Top pickup-truck-driving hick with his straw hat and long beard. After hearing his demonic growls, I wouldn’t want to ask.
Their set consisted of selections from each release (plus Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire,” which was dedicated “to the ladies… let it burn, motherfucker!”).
You can’t say she doesn’t have diverse musical interests. Violet lights swirled as she launched into “Purple Rain.” Yes, by Prince. On a friggin’ organ.
This is not slap-in-the-face-with-a-giant-trout comedy; it’s a welcome example of a more rarefied, looser form of humor – knowing, sly, and sweetly sardonic.
This issue finally has that INTERACTIVE thing. Sure, not every band reviewed has one of them neato extension numbers after them, it’s a work in progress…
It had always been at the back of my mind that I could be the only person who existed. It was just a matter of cracking through the clearness to realize it.