Oh, hail Richmond, Virginia !. Occasionally regional bands became lauded on compilations for greedy grabbing sweaty secretive nerdy evil record lords. Seeking out and posting their findings on social media for all to tilt their caveman posturings and send a spindle of sweaty spittle cascading down their black head-encrusted chin thus avoiding their overpriced modern artifact shelved in the thickest non-PVC gas-producing sleeve. Phew that is one long sentence... Down with punctuation!
L'Amour is anything but LUV- sending out those black heart emojis before they existed. They cum in spurts much like early 77 Punk bands not on the international stage like the Pistols or Ramones but leaning to the two-chord dial of The Viletones but with a Mr Crash who can keep time. Sounding similar to many a band jumping on the PUNK choo choo train when it was leaving the station, however many a discerning fan eats this shit up like globs of jello wiggling on an electric fork.
Now Beex are like the sweltering swagger of early Motorhead with five cups less of garbled sea glass a la Lemmy. Good ol’ dirty rock and roll not unlike everyone's favourite Junkie Business. Perhaps they have sipped at the cup of Thunders/Nolan/ Lure and Rath or guzzled down the gullet with a well-worn Pewter Stein.
No earth-defying Wallenda acrobatics but boner up Rock and Roll playing at some loveable shithole with cheap beer, blue cigarette smoke, and a waft of Mary Jane while thrusting, grinding Zombies wear paths in the linoleum for future millennials to study archaic primitive dance moves. 1- 2- 3- 4! Go!
