SLEEVEENS, THE- S/T LP
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SLEEVEENS, THE- S/T LP

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This hit me like a fist like a brick, grabbed me by the collarbones and pulled me to attention, stopped my slumping in my Laz-E Boy and shook me awake pounding on my eardrums, yanked me up my earlobes and had me hooked like addict from the get-go, tooth loose that chamber from the Bic pen, dump that bag and gimme that toot, thought this record might be something I somehow missed from days gone by, sounding like it coulda come from  Boston 1974 or Dublin 1978, maybe somewhere around Surrey or Essex circa one of those years, but actually this coming from right now and where all the music comes, down in the Southern states of the United States, down around Nashville, Tennessee, bring it back home, borrowing some shuffle of the sneakers and pedal-pushers and head flips licks and kicks from folks like Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Al Perkins, and Eddie Cochran, yanking the sounds like cherry-coke syrup through a striped Scoopy straw through the innards of some of the more important rock idols of the 1970s and blasting into the present tense like a rebuilt slant-six with a hyper pak under the sturdy hood of a Valiant jumping from the gate and into the blacktops and highways of world of right now, the vocals by Stef Murphy helping to bring this through his homeland Ireland, the songs wrapping around your shoulders like the arms of an old friend and a friendly stranger as you pass the last square and chase down some semblance of understanding with the elusive elixir of modern living, holding the bottle to keep you from falling, bushmills mixed with white lightning, chased with a slug of Wild Irish Rose going down the pipe like greased lighting on the s-curves of a back road, the rest of the band likely from Tennessee, Ryan Sweeney (Cheap Time, etc), Jamie Mechan (Pink Spiders, etc), and Eli Steele (Sweet Knives, etc.), the album action-packed with a grip of songs that all fit together but moving through the curves and into the straightaways, a bunch of cynical 1-2 punches of punk rock along with good times two-chord 1-2-3-4 shout outs for a little bit of hope in this pandora box of a world so as the globe turn over in its grave, shake it awake to look up for a moment "as we dance this mess around...never lose your sweetness in the face of hate...we'll be dancing on the factory floor...we'll have the sweetest time and the kids will rock n roll forever!" Amen. -- winch