Recipe for Pussy Galore: take a hefty chunk of the rawest Garage Rock possible, preferably a bit rancid, cousin of the Cramps and nephew of the wildest garage bands of the '60s, mix it with its natural twin of Rolling Stones-style R'n'R, soak it with a good liter of Blues, but the Blues left to rot, darkened, that murky and shamanic cult brother of the Birthday Party's blues drift, and stuff it with a generous dose of everything that was the fury of Punk (and maybe even Hardcore-Punk) about ten years before. Alright, now blend it all; is the blender making noise? Great, because there's a need for plenty of "Noise" to cover the final result, along with a vocalist, Jon Spencer, who is a wild, shamanic voice, a beastly singer worthy of the Morrison-Iggy lineage, a younger brother of the Cave and Inner Light; of course, this is when the three guitars, divided between garage riffs and delirious noise clatter (Hagerty, Cafritz, and Spencer himself) don't almost completely drown out the furious performances. On drums, still John Hammill and not Bob Bert.
So, what does Pussy Galore sound like? The fiercest Garage, violent in sonic assault and dirty, that you can imagine. Or Garage/Noise/Blues/Punk/R'n'R to create the collage of terms.
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