Review Of Our Self Titled CD By Ginger Dread At I Can Smell Your Brains. Her Macabre Interpretation Of The Album Was DEAD ON.
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I get a little nervous when I pop Creepsville 666's new album into my CD player and press play. I can't help it. Creepsville's music has this quality to it...it's just a touch on the scary side.
Honestly, it's everything I was warned against growing up in church. Weird sex? Check, give"Adonis of the Dead" a spin, with lyrics so vulgar they'd make G.G. blush.
Hard drugs? Yah, see "Undead Rebels of the Night", with more booze and junk than some graveyard Studio 54. The Devil? Yeah, that fella shows up, too, on just about every track.
I can hear it now..."If you play that album backwards, you'll hear messages from Satan!" Or, "You know what Creepsville stands for, right? Children Raised Entirely Evil Promote Satan's Violent International Legions Longing Eternally..." or something equally ridiculous.
No doubt about it, this would be one of those albums you had to hide under your mattress. One you'd have to strategically turn down on the hi-fi while mom's dusting your room.
But beyond the "Am I Evil" antics of these psycho-billy sick boys, we're talking about an album of unquestionable quality here.
Not content to merely cuff their jeans and slickly pomp their hair, the boys of Creepsville ( Geno Delamorte on Gretsch and vox, Dez K. Daver on upright bass and vox and Robbie Six on drums) have crafted a dizzying cocktail of rockabilly spunk, glam metal steez, punk rock attitude and good old fashioned rock n' roll style.
Notice those eerie organs? Those spooky theremins? Clearly these boys have paid a few visits to the Haunted Mansion. Those rockin' solos? When exactly did Mick Mars join the Cramps? "Your New Home" smells a little like Maiden packed up their gear and set up shop in some backwoods jukejoint managed by Screaming Jay Hawkins and Gene Vincent.
Those "back against the wall-us against the world" gang vocals suggest a few proudly displayed Plan-9 Records seven inches on these dudes' collective mantle.
Slamming drums and click heavy bass guide the band through the twists and howlin' turns of the band's anthem "Werewolves of Creepsville", a blast of Doc Martin stomping rock that surely has 'ole Warren Zevon shake, rattle and rolling in his grave.
You know, it's a shame that the ladies down at the Parish would write the dead boys of Creepsville off so quickly. There's something downright charming about these boys...if you look past the creepy crawlies and the death threats, there's moments that seem almost sweet...lovey dovey even!
I mean, what little lady wouldn't wanna hop in the hearse and go home with anyone of these demented loverboys? I mean, when it's all said and done, surely Geno, Dez and Robbie haven't really sold their souls to mean old Lucifer. Or...have they? Whoa, better turn the stereo down. Ma's coming in to vacuum the room, and she's got an awful funny look in her eyes... All hail Creepsville! Jason P. Woodbury
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