The Devils
Iron Butt

THE REVIEW

The devils are back, still under the guise of Father Gianni and Sister Erica.

And they have returned to bring even more turmoil among the ranks of the low-fidelity blues faithful.

Because if «Sin, You Sinners!» made you jump, «Iron Butt» is pure white noise.

Mud, from where an illusory semblance of sound emerges.

«Ch’almen l’ultimo pianto sia devoto, senza terrestre limo, come fu ’l primo non d’insania voto».

There is insanity and there is crying, like every respectable blues, it is not the first and it will not be the last.

There is devotion, to Hound Dog Taylor, the Cramps, and the Oblivians, a tutelary trinity of a never consecrated church.

There is the form.

Sister Erica in a mini black leather habit, fishnet stockings, and knee-high boots.

Fire-red boots, certainly, even if in black and white.

Conspicuous lipstick, matching the habit.

Showy sunglasses.

Cigarette in the right hand, whip in the left.

She is seated facing Father Gianni.

Like Poison Ivy and Lux Interior from days gone by.

There is the substance.

Ten tracks in barely twenty minutes.

More than tracks, blazing accelerations dissolved in the brief span of a minute; few exceptions, the mechanical movements of the hand that break down that temporal wall.

The microphone pushed into the throat, screams between wild and guttural, little or nothing decipherable.

Apart from the titles stamped on the cover.

«Put Your Devil Into My Ass» is the opening, and there is no need to go further.

Or maybe yes.

«Radio Maria Anthem», the devoted called to gather.

«The People Suite», the Deviants, a declaration of intents, if ever the intents weren't clear.

If it could be defined as "music," this would be a great record.

May the blues be with you.

Amen.