Doo Rag
What We Do

THE REVIEW

The Blues Concert for Recovered Industrial Mechanics in the Automotive Delta Revival performed by Followers of the Unknown Reverend Blind. The stomp hammering was adapted to desert times using pizza boxes, pieces of washing machines, and trash cans, through rapid accelerations-decelerations in rusty amusement parks with an evident denigrating purpose towards characters like Robert Johnson (here forced in many tracks to return from the afterlife and take a nice lamp of harmful radiation in the Jornada del Muerto desert), Mississippi Fred McDowell (ridiculed in many tracks by exaggerated metallic slides and motoristic paranoia with compulsive screams in the Bullhorn alternated with prehistoric blues strumming and marks on the asphalt), Van Vliet (soaked in motor oil and forced to lend his lead guitar for obscure Arizona blues rites) and also Beck (who was hypnotized for hours listening to them in vain to be captured by the diddlybow trance played with spare parts from the Ford F-series).

"What We Do?" It was dragging sacred American music into an ugly but very rapid highway adventure to bring it to the back of a seedy gas station in the middle of nowhere and, in the adjoining garage, handing it over to infamous punk mechanics Bob Log III and Thermos, who transformed it into a terrible custom torpedo equipped with leftovers from the annual YMCA charity auction. After making it unrecognizable, it was fueled with wise doses of Eddie "One String Jones" played through the audio system of some shack for illegals in southern New Mexico. But just after the first recording outcome of "Chunckled and Muddled" it (the blues music thus elaborated) was already evidently ready to unleash metallic clamor beyond the speed limits of memorable escapes across the border with a pen stuck in the stereo on the filthy frequencies of "Trudge", "Freeloader", "Nichel", "Some". 

These infamous sounds were recorded on tape with low-cost technology in Arizona, one strange morning in 1996. Was it the usual irresponsible and immoral youthful American impulse? Or is it just the pernicious habit of the reviewer who only chooses garbage music? Aren't we perhaps faced with yet another revenge for a hundred years of reluctantly endured blues hassle?
Anyway, the first nuclear device lit up the New Mexico sky at dawn on July 16, 1945, far enough, said the General Staff, from big cities, like Tucson. 

A metallic blues of fear.