Beasts of Bourbon - Beyond Good & Evil
The Beasts of Bourbon. God in Hell! What kind of fucked up insolence is this? Like all the best groups, the Beasts of Bourbon look like a gang: a gang of lazy, insolent, sneering, lascivious and threatening men. Cocksure would be another word. Cliche has become such a part of life that it almost defies belief when you see one brought to life. Although, cliche is the wrong word, it's archetype that I'm groping blindly for. Make no mistake, this is a capital A archetype we have here. This is the reason your parents hate Rock 'n' Roll. This is the reason the southern Baptists burnt records. This is the reason the Ed Sullivan show filmed Elvis from the waist up. This is the Real Deal. The Hopped-Up, Hot-Rodded, Adrenalin-Juiced to the Max, factor 1,000%. This is a tale to be written in HEADLINES. Big Black Blocks of Type. This is MURDER/ROMANCE. Ever since The Beasts first ectoplasmically discharged into this world, spitting tacks and reaping class 'A' chaos, they have been disintegrating in a series of world beating nervous breakdowns. They operate in grand mal fits and starts. Everytime is the Last Time. Each incarnation is Never Again. But it's in their blood. That nasty tainted stuff that courses corrosively through their veins carrying a rhythmic virus. There's but one way to scratch this itch. The Beasts pursue their own demons - stay true to their own hallucination and vision. They are living proof that Punk Rock is content not style. They are walking contradiction. They sputter with blank-eyed inarticulate rage, then turn around and articulate it. They have savvy running down their chins. From the beginning they discharged into the world a greasy explosion of leering insolence. A gang, on the verge of mutiny. Blasphemous, amoral, The Beasts evaporate and consolidate, delinquent ghosts, and with each cyclonic incarnation they assume a different guise. From the shot-gun-garage of The Axeman's Jazz to the crackling, electric sputter that was Gone, they are a walking, talking new testament to the credo that whatever doesn't kill you will only make you stronger. When The Beasts slouch into Bethlehem, the centre cannot hold.
- Rowland S. Howard