Even if I was sober, this shit would read the same way. The Brickbats are amazing. Seriously, this is the shit. The Brickbats were part of the 90s NYC horror rockandroll re-revolution. They were on the public access television, the stages of many bars in the city, and the minds of well versed deathrockers scoring points for scene cred back in the day after yesterday. I can remember sweating my ass off at one of their shows in the late 90s at The Continental. I was lucky to be in the way of Paul Morden (R.I.P.) at the time (bass), who sprayed me with spit and food coloring soaked alka-seltzer in his zombie rocker berserker rage.
This record picks up where they left off. It is a brilliant example of what was and is great about the horror punk/deathrock scene. The ability to write well-crafted tunes that clearly evidence a professional level of musicianship stirred with a sense of the campy that is not hackneyed.
The album tears along, never really stopping; harnessing the powerful energy of The Damned on Machine Gun Etiquette. The songs are punky and fun, but also seriously well made. They are a good time that understands your pain.
Guitar dominates many of the tracks and strong production omits nothing. The Brickbats understand a genre that needs fun while holding onto craftsmanship. HOLY SHIT I just had another drink and listened to this record AGAIN and let me tell you, the shit is real!
If you haven’t had the pleasure of their company live, you really need to. They play out like once a year or something at haunts like Otto’s Shrunken Head. The live thing is the real deal. Makeup and Halloween lights. Sweat and booze. Howling crowds.
Standout tracks include “At the End of the End of the World” and “Witch Call.” Buy this record and all the other ones they recorded because this is the soundtrack to your Halloween as well as your Flag Day when you were wishing it was Halloween.