Staggering, plodding, delicate, discreet, ass-kicking. I like bands named after assassinated homosexual politicians that sound like Brian Eno meets Melvins.
Making comparisons between Fu Manchu and ’70s acid-rock kings is slippery business, because, while the influence is undeniable, there’s no nostalgic vibe.
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.
Punchy, post-punk heavy on the distortion. The Sons of Hercules sound like the Stooges, but with better production. It’s fast and in-yer-face, yet bouncy.