- Blood, Sweat and Murder [MP3]
- HIt The Road
- Someday Baby
- Wreck My Car
- Raisin' Hell Again
- I See the Light/ What's His Name?
- Whiskey [MP3]
- Muleskinner Blues
- Truck Driver
- Sweet Thing
- BBQ Commercial
- Throw A Boogie/ Black Betty/ Just A Little Bit (Live)
- Downtown Chicken (Live)
- CB Transmissions
“He's obviously clinically insane.” —PLAYBACK STL
“Barbarous exorcism of Depression-era blues.” —No Depression
"From start to finish, Biram's new album is a runaway freight car busting at the rivets with greasy, meat-grinder-raw country-blues-punk stompers and lonesome ballads." —Paste Magazine
Scott H Biram The Dirty Old One Man Band
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It's been said that rock and roll came from the blues on the right hand and country on the left; Scott H. Biram is the middle finger on both. An album full of exhilarating, menacing, primal, tormented, raw charm. BEWARE!!! Biram's blend of punk, delta blues, and hillbilly throws down the boogie gauntlet and sends a feral bolt of brimstone south of your studded leather belt.
Yeah, sure, we could toss in lots of pointy headed music geek orgy scenarios at you; Black Flag does it with Hasil Adkins, Mississippi Fred McDowell gets down with AC/DC, John Lee Hooker lip locks with Motorhead's Lemmy--it all just scratches the surface. This is gospel for the 13th circle, and he's singing it like his feet are already halfway in the fires.
"He's barbaric, determined and vulnerable. His music is too... a cacophony of hillbilly, punk and hardcore metal, it's hard to know what might come out of that smashed-up head of his." —Detroit Metro Times
"Biram continues at the crossroads of blues, punk, hillbilly, and through his twisted vision, it all makes sense... a delirious mix of ZZ Top, Motorhead, and Mississippi John Hurt that's so full of life it's difficult to imagine it all coming from just one man." —Austin Chronicle
"Biram plays with startling intensity: hunched in a chair, his face half-covered by the bill of his trucker cap, his head bobs wildly when he sings, and his eyes roll back in his head... [you] can't tell if he is barking commands to Saint Peter or his rival down below." —Chicago Reader