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The name comes form a poem
by William Butler Yeats, who’s probably more bopping in the proverbial
grave, than spinning.
A rejection of "all that untalented
grunge horseshit", the sound is as tight in core instrumentation as
it is diverse in tasty bonus noises, form congas to scratchin’ to megaphones.
Three of five band members have contributed fully to the songwriting on
this self-produced, self-titled debut from Adam’s Curse.
The result is a consistent, hard-core energy
woven through a label-maker’s wet dream: Surfhouse-punk? How-spunk? Hoser-smurf-junk?
Describe the CD anyway you want. Just make sure that the furniture’s right
back to the wall and appendages unhindered - this ain’t the times to be
plucking or trimming anything important.
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