Tweak Bird
Tweak Bird

Brotherly friends, bare-chested and racing at breakneck speed through the fields of Illinois on a Harley.

This is how I discover them, and between me and the excellent album cover, it's love at first sight. You can't be so stupid and crude without having at least two or three things to say, and their debut album is the perfect soundtrack for the aforementioned motorcycle excursion.

I buy; therefore, diesel riffs raining down and spacey vibes, ethereal sax and pre-stoner Sabbath stompers. Armed with only drums, baritone guitar, and vocals, Tweak Bird breaks through my heart as a newly minted thirty-something like resurrected Morphine jamming with Josh Homme. Or the Black Keys with power balance bracelets. Motorpsychedelic sense of groove, nonsense vocals à la Primus, and concentrated sludge/doom thumps in 10 tracks, each just a few minutes long.

The distilled fury of a heavy metal lightning bolt, recommended only to the select circle of genre fans.