This is the sound of burnt hills, the smell of burnt hair, the black musical smoke from a burning methlab in an abandoned trailer park, a glorious blown out, burnt out, drug addled freak rock free for all. Imagine the Dead C if they had grown up in Modesto, skipping school and doing lots of speed in the 7-11 parking lot, or if they had spent their formative years in Texas in the early eighties smoking pot and huffing glue. Or imagine a Hawkwind practice space jam session moments after each band member received a partial frontal lobotomy. How about a playground fight between Liquorba… read more
This is the sound of burnt hills, the smell of burnt hair, the black musical smoke from a burning methlab in an abandoned trailer park, a glorious blown out, burnt out, drug addled freak rock free for all. Imagine the Dead C if they had grown up in Modesto, skipping school and doing lots of s… read more
This is the sound of burnt hills, the smell of burnt hair, the black musical smoke from a burning methlab in an abandoned trailer park, a glorious blown out, burnt out, drug addled freak rock free for all. Imagine the Dead C if they had grown up in Modesto, skipping school and doing lots of speed in the 7-11 parking lot, or if they had spent their formative years… read more