Red Aunts

Saltbox (Epitaph)
by Scott Hefflon

Even after every ‘zine with any taste whatsoever gushed over #1 Chicken, the banshee bitches didn’t let it go to their heads (hell, they probably don’t even read music biz blather) and, like, learn how to play or anything. Red Aunts are still the Perpetual PMS Punks they were previously, they’ve just pushed even further into the obscure nether regions of “how the hell do I describe this?” There are dilapidated roadhouse jams going on, mournful piano, steel and slide guitar, and some random banging on a hammond organ. But it’s all done punkly. Saltbox closes with a ballad (?) that stumbles like a whiskey-soaked dog howling his dispair at the three moons. And for fans of their unmatched screechy and scratchy stylings, “I Can’t Do Anything Right” and a few other radio-unfriendly shots of mace-in-the-face are included to grate on your nerves and make your neighbors hate you even more.