It’s hard to find “chicks” who can swagger/strut/stomp/and belt it out like (or, gasp!, better) than their posturing, bravado-inflated male counterparts.
From the onset, the groove was tight and weighed a ton. It never lightened through the whole set. Their sound and presence is like the rumbles from the old days.
The beat styling of J.T. Main courses blood-pumping rhythm through the veins of their first song. Scott Francis roars low, guttural melodies of “Daisy Chain.”