Caroliner Rainbow Stewed Angel Skins --
I'm Armed With Qts Of Blood Subterranean
Coming across like a turn of the century Royal Trux being rendered by Suckdog, these kooks are hard to follow. The pluck-pluck noodle-stringing or the primate hick-beat or the high-faluting tension vox all seem to jam on individual wavelengths as they coalesce into form. Not something for the idiot ear, mind you, only food for the odd, And I've yet to meet a cuss who's heard of 'em and I doubt I'll meet many that'll like what they hear. Either these Caroliner creeps have been spending too much time in the Sierras catching cabin fever while playing Donner party or they're just your average everyday pothead art school drop-outs from S.F. The world is a strange place indeed.