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Newport TJ's

It's as pure as music made by men who probably fry their cornflakes in hog fat can be.

As a formal oration it lacks a certain something. As a mission statement, though, it's straight to the point. "This song's about getting some drugs!" barks Blind Marky Felchtone, frontman of Seattle's premier scumpunks Zeke. "It's called 'Let's Get Drugs'!" Brevity, as someone once noted, is the soul of wit.



Zeke are the heart of darkness in the murkiest corner of Hades' suburban garage. Conceptually, the quartet are so monomaniacal and tunnel-visioned they are beyond criticism. Rocket From The Crypt and the New Bomb Turks provide suitably greasy Yank pointers, only they sometimes write songs longer than two minutes and have been known to employ a third chord. Wusses.



The frenzied splatter of soloing throughout 'Night Rider' and 'I Don't Give A Fuck' suggests '80s thrash metal soundtracks a lot of their long interstate truck journeys. But this has not a gram of bearing on the fact that Zeke are punk as almighty fuck.



Song begins, the three-man frontline have convulsions, the drummer gives us the finger and yells, "Shut up", song ends, the spirit of Iggy Pop can be heard weeping. It's as pure as music made by men who probably fry their cornflakes in hog fat can be.

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