The long-awaited first sign of the upcoming debut album from Swedens worst kept secret Viagra Boys is finally upon us.
“Sports” is the next step on the twisted, raw and gritty path they blazed, and it’s back to the stone age with this one.
The guitars, noodling on the windows of your mind, tribal thumps - the kind of basslines 4-stringers used to die for.
The machine-like beating of the skins and hardware like a deranged conga line topped by the cloud of spit jettisoned out the mouthhole of a mad prophet.
Some call it street blues; smart and dumb at the same time, sad, lonely but always with a smirk and a unique knack for deadpan funny but grim storytelling.
Viagra Boys make great music, sort of like The Stooges meets The Birthday Party, or Devo cross-pollinated with Mark E Smith’s Fall - it might not be for everyone, but like Gibby said: ‘There’s a time to shit and a time for god, the last shit I took was pretty fucking odd’.
Hate the sports, not the song.
The long-awaited first sign of the upcoming debut album from Swedens worst kept secret Viagra Boys is finally upon us.
“Sports” is the next step on the twisted, raw and gritty path they blazed, and it’s back to the stone age with this one.
The guitars, noodling on the windows of your mind, tribal thumps - the kind of basslines 4-stringers used to die for.
The machine-like beating of the skins and hardware like a deranged conga line topped by the cloud of spit jettisoned out the mouthhole of a mad prophet.
Some call it street blues; smart and dumb at the same time, sad, lonely but always with a smirk and a unique knack for deadpan funny but grim storytelling.
Viagra Boys make great music, sort of like The Stooges meets The Birthday Party, or Devo cross-pollinated with Mark E Smith’s Fall - it might not be for everyone, but like Gibby said: ‘There’s a time to shit and a time for god, the last shit I took was pretty fucking odd’.
Hate the sports, not the song.