They spray Eau de Lesbos from their unshaven armpits. They are butch and blatant, miles from the closet, loud as a cranked amp. This is womyn cock rock.
Truth is, I’ve run outta new ways to describe Guttermouth’s fast’n’snotty punk antics, but that’s OK, cuz they’re basically repeating themselves by now anyway.
Mostly decent doom stutter’n’stumble, the kinda choppy, “binary”-style Meshuggah whips about, but here slinkily coils slowly around your ankles like nü metal.
The world’s favorite working class-yet-gentle Scotsmen have upped the saccharine and downed the shoegazing on their third record, much to diehard fans’ dismay.
Two of the best post-rock ensembles get together and come up with twisted, sometimes hilarious, creations that evoke Iron Maiden, Joan Of Arc, and Cheap Trick.
While the fruity squealing vocals still remind me of Gaza Stripper Rick Simms with his nuts caught in his zipper, Cheap Trick’s Zander sung pretty as a girl.