Review: Trash Cats - Wardcore

   
Haven’t had the pleasure to catch this trio live (YET), but they are no doubt a ton of sleazy fun. And maybe a bit of introspection. Alcoholic Appalachian acoustic crust-punk. Not so much cowpunk. More like hillbilly gutterpunk. And kinda um... satanic. Briscoe Darling hocked a loogie on a pet cemetery during a full moon. That snot grew a brain, picked up a guitar, and started singing his heart out. To recap: Mucous grew a brain AND a heart, but the heart is gone, because he sang it out. The bass is deep and sad and as real as an AA meeting. And... Hey, where are the drums? No drums. Washboard. Because fuck you. -Harmless   

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