If Egon of Ghostbusters made an album, this would be it. Slip on your silver glitter deely-boppers, adjust your Coke bottle glasses, and rock out, Earthlings.
The alchemical formula to transform formal, minor key violins and proper Victorian speak into an aural tickle that makes skulls grin and devils tap their toes.
For those who enjoy such things as fine, olde English music with deeply evile words but complete with authentic HURDY-GURDY playing purchase Burn, Witch, Burn.
They weren’t talented. They were fashionable. So if it whizzed by you the first time, turn your head and catch the Bratmobile look now. It hasn’t changed.
Razors, KMFDM, oiled guns, deranged ringmasters, Burt Bacharach. Which of these doesn’t belong? Trick question – they all belong, if you’re Abby Travis.
Fraser harnesses images of horror to torture the men who deserve it. She thrusts rich cheats into Hell, with insects clicking their wings in their nostrils.