Playing this one slower than it should be. The grind gets heavier, the already low Satan-meets-Tom Waits-on-a-bad-day growl bottoms out in a pit of gravel.
Produced by one of the best, Waldemar Sorychta, Passage alternately chops like a deranged axeman, and flows smoothly and steadily like a glacier melting.
Cruising in the pipeline of the current surf instrumental revival. There’s no attempt at a new twist, just something to remind you how vital this music is.
One hot minute, it’s incantantory punk and Kate Pierson (or Cindy Wilson) the next, it’s string-mopped U.K. hee-hey with a sickly-sweet Pixie-sticky bassline.
Even after every ‘zine with any taste gushed over #1 Chicken, the banshee bitches didn’t let it go to their heads and, like, learn how to play or anything.