Split Lip Rayfield
In The Mud
Bloodshot
OK, Dom, you KNOW I hate bluegrass, right? So why do you persist, in your pernicious ways, in ramming bluegrass CDs down my gullet that always leave me stupefied with the incredible musicianship on the damn things?
This may be the best one yet. Or even ever. Dunno. Guitar, banjo, mandolin, and a little something called a gas tank bass. As in take the gas tank from somebody’s car or perhaps truck, TAPE a stick on the fucker and then run a SINGLE string on it. Yeah, right. However, if you’re as talented as the motherfucker who plays it (Jeff Eaton), you can get some killer licks out of it. And this whole album is about killer licks.
These guys just FLY through their music like a threshing machine high on a combination of crystal meth and angel dust. ZOOM! VROOM! WHOOM! Spraying notes around like a firehose. Except for every once in a while. They’ve dropped in the occasional slower piece almost as if to prove that they CAN EVEN DO IT. And the lyrics ain’t bad either. Some definite psychosis going on with some of this stuff. Phoo. Radical shit.
Bloodshot Records, 3039 W. Irving Park, Chicago, IL 60618-3538; http://www.bloodshot.com
