The Morlocks
Submerged Alive

THE REVIEW

San Diego. Boys in a garage. They play the easiest thing. Simple 60s chords. Maybe we don't know how to play and then we send Fuzz to the max.

A singer, I believe, Filipino, he likes music, but he likes drugs a lot, really a lot, especially heroin.

We like unknown names from the 50s, we like 60s science fiction cinema, we like distorted surf, the Sonics, so why not try to throw music into a basement.

A band is born, roots of Garage Punk. The wild 60s spit in your face. Buryers of years gone by, seen through the eyes of the poor who express their dissent in front of a TV broadcasting the Beatles. Punk, I don't think like you and I make my own music.

Let's go back to San Diego, They keep doing drugs, the "Black Mexican" is smoked a lot.

But between one pipe and another, I play in a band.

After a first garage record, which in the U.S.A nobody cared about, but in Europe it was doing well, we make a new record.

By now the 60s garage innocence is gone. I am a heroin addict, quite unbelievable, but the band works.

Live, a fake live. Garage Punk has become dark, sick, transported into the 70s and I, the singer am a legend.

Dark music, a daughter of the 60s, but played by people who now listen to Hard from the early 70s. Maybe they've heard the first of Black Sabbath?

I don't know, but I think that's how it went.

Listen to this record and let me know.

These guys keep playing around the world. Love for music? I envy it.