Trash-rock and Russ Meyer’s sense of aesthetics gives the record a (fronted) idea of fun: Fast cars’n’faster women are the only things worth livin’ for.
Tracks nicely, playing as a really strong album. The appropriate way to find out what’s what with one of America’s premier rock/punk/metal/hardcore labels.
Powerhawg groove powered Southern kickass with a decent chunk of growly vocal melody to ground the songs in the mythic South, where most started anyways.
Something’s gotta be said for a record that kicks off with a ditty entitled “Comin’ Home (Smoking Pot On a Sunday Afternoon While UFO’s Drone Overhead).”
Beaver hail from Amsterdam, and like seemingly every other European stoner/heavy band in existence, they sound as if they were weaned on Kyuss albums and weed.
Little to no actual songcraft happening here, but lotsa heavy riffing, grumbling low-end, and psychotic, tortured vocals for six to ten minutes at a time.