Graveyard Shift

This is a raw and dirty tantrum, more Saturday night than Sunday morning, but there's still a fascinating spiritual tussle at work here...If Hank Williams had grown up listening to Johnny Rotten, this is what he might have sounded like.

Every so often, an artist comes along, playing music that makes you stop in your tracks and say, 'Yeah, that's exactly what I needed.' Scott H. Biram is that artist.

...the rough-shod mix of swampy, primeval blues, roadhouse revelry, wild-eyed holy roller exhortation and trailer trash growel makes for a powerful brew.

The indelible magic of Biram's music is it's vivid, manic energy. He's a one-man band afire, making noise to fill the universe with his anguish, yet the songs jump to beat all. Their sum is ultimately an uplifting assault against the ignominies of getting by.

Biram's music is country, but it's marinated in the blues, metal, punk, boogie and maybe battery acid. His tunes unspool like the terrifying, arm-flapping, sweat drenched apocalyptic visions of an insane preacher... the perfect soundtrack for driving down that lost highway at 99 miles per hour.

... a potent bunch of hellbound blues and gutbucket country filtered through a raw, lo-fi sound. Biram's musical roots are in ancient rural blues, old-time traditionals and fire-and-brimstone gospel, but this is far from being some safe and sterile re-creation of the past--this man and his music are very much alive, unpredictable, and just plain dangerous.

The monotonous rig-a-ma-roll I'm gonna have to face during my waking hours seems like it's gonna be alright, ya know. Now some days turn out horrible and some turn out killer, but either way having these tunes rolling around in my head helps to keep me going. And that's why I've been listening to this shit from sun up to sundown.