I Can't Stop Thinking About It - The Dirtbombs After the succulent and varied appetizer before the official album, this first one is decidedly pankazzo, experimental, alternative, crossover, and whatever else you can think of…
Friends and fellow Garage enthusiasts, psychedelic, psycho(labile), angry and disdainful, dedicated to onanism and any noble vice that can satisfy our Noble primordial instincts… let’s gather around this NeGro and do ourselves some good…
His most talented and enduring creation will play everything at full blast and with nobility, savansadir
But why not let the Reverend say it…
THE DIRTBOMBS – Horndog Fest (In the Red)
The initial project of being exclusively and stubbornly a singles band is abandoned thanks to the insistence of Larry Hardy from In the Red Records.
It is thanks to his stubbornness that the Dirtbombs change course and embark on an equally tortuous journey on a larger format, where each record, as had happened with the smaller ones, is different from the one that preceded it and the one that will follow. In both intention and result. The only guiding principle is to please no one, building around themselves a belt of hatred and renouncing beliefs that everyone claims to believe in except him: Mr. Mick Collins. Horndog Fest immediately manifests its nature devoted to absolute and mocking indiscipline, opening with an instrumental where whistles and the noise of scrap metal tear through the air, creating devastation and annihilating the listener. It is a deliberately placed obstacle. A kind of initiation through which one can delve into the universe of the Dirtbombs, set against what is, compared to the Gories, an authentic big band.
One guitar, two basses, two drums.
They work with the grace of low-level labor around a concept of garage-punk that on one side brushes the walls of industrial music, on the other the sweaty bodies of soul music, plucking Link Wray’s chicken with the sharp fingers of Edward Scissorhands until it collapses to the ground, stunned by pain, creating sci-fi music for crazy video games, hardcore splatters like in a ejaculation from the Black Flag, sinister fuzz pedal play, noisy incest between cheap hobo-man guitars and a rhythm section that pounds the instruments like Chinese cooks in the back rooms of Chinatown restaurants.
You would do well not to trust when the black boss smiles while passing by the tables without removing his sunglasses for even a moment.
Eeeehhhh
