The soundtrack to yer soul’s inner torment, courtesy of Estrus: Moody fuzzy scuzzbagged feedbacked rock, like a dirty needle wrapped up in a brand new box.
The Dripping Lips will instantly be more familiar than most of the other discs clutterin’ up the “misc D” section, which is okay, cuz it’s a pretty good record.
Sylvain was the underrated tunesmith in the NY Dolls, not content to merely re-write Chuck Berry’s back catalogue, or ripoff Sonny Boy Williamson’s bluster.
A near decade’s worth of Old Scratchibilly rock from Northern California’s porno-psycho-horror revivalists The Hellbillys is neatly crucified on this disc.
The Bassholes are reportedly attempting to track down the skeletal double helix strand of DNA that’s gonna resolve rock’n’roll’s disputed parentage for good.