From the swamps of NOLA, with their pulsating bass and voice of eternal doom. Dax Riggs’ voice is kind of like a melodic trill over a deep and angry growl.
The low-end drone is its Salisbury steak, the L7-ish vocals are the mashed potatoes with gravy, and the ’70s acid rock nostalgia kick is its peas and carrots.
While using some of the great elements of Black Metal, the thin production, weak transitions, and uninnovative musicianship make this little more than filler.
There are plenty of clicks, clanks, and chugga-chuggas for all the fist-bang maniacs out there, but the true beauty of this release is in its subtle moments.
Turbo Tom started his performance by snorting a condom and removing it from his mouth. He followed that by swallowing it and blowing it up and out of his nose.
While their latest CD left me intrigued, but not hooked, Jack Logan and Liquor Cabinet’s show led me up a trail of cigarette butt clues that ended centerstage.