“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 Liquorball and Faxed Head, the ‘Ball armed with flaming wadded up balls of black aluminum foil and the ‘Head flinging guitar picks dipped in lighter fluid and an rusty guitar strings. Weird and wonderfully fucked up. Fans of freaked out psychedelic punch ups, dizzying clattery outsider free rock and getting super high and diving head first into a huge pile of drums and guitars will feel right at home.”