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Even when he’s at his most quiet, it doesn’t get any more real—or more loud—than Scott H Biram.
SHB maintains the blues-metal-countrypunk-rock but strengthens it with crack guitar playing and shrewdly-crafted songwriting.

Boasts the tunesmanship of The Faces and the barroom howl of The Band. The album testifies to the soul-saving grace of rock n’ roll.

Takes you back to a place where men were hot for their women, women were hot for their men, where rickety run-down back porches were alive with spirit and song, good company, and ample quantities of BBQ and booze.

Debut CD whips up a witches brew of hillbilly hellfire and blues brimstone full of the locomotive rhythms of traditional bluegrass, the intensity of Mississippi roadhouse blues, and the full-on sonic assault of Slayer.

All motorcycle boots and sneers, they rode a squall of throat-grabbing feedback and Stonesy musical middle fingers. They were as much Thunders and Reed as anything country.