Wet Nuns – Wet Nuns

The Skinny: “There’s always one bad alcoholic tryin’ to spoil it for everyone”

The Review proper: Wet Nuns, hailin’ from Sheffield, Alabama (home of the grits, sausage and pork pudding) are now on one of dem plastic discs that are compact. Just two good ol’ boys remindin’ y’all how that there Lord of Darkness works in mysterious (an’ severely distorted, fuzz’d) ways.

Now, now, don’t get yir longjohns in a twist, dis here is a compin… gaderi… collizshun…ahh, bunch a songs ‘n’ skitches ’bout women an’ death (the same thin’ if youse ask my cuz Robert James III jr.). No artsy fartsy stuff, sum misses, sum hits ‘n’ a couple of silent tracks (or mebbe i’m deaf now).

‘Ram it home / When you’re home’, ah, remember when Peggy Sue heard dis that nite Ah was doin’ some moonshine with Unca Billy Ray. Best hog ride Ah gets since me an’ cousin Sally went steady on the Ford truck in ol’ Bayou! Fuzzy is as sweet as cornbread wit cream. This a prime rib joint shack, y’all.

Oh, ‘Told my mama’, a sad, sad poem to runnin’ outta moonpies while Rasslin’ is on the tv. It sounds like cuz Cleatus singin’ to himself after we ate his fave squirrel, yeaaaahaaaaw. Youse like ol’ songs, like the one’s that veggie-eatin’ idjit Moby (the baldy jingle maker) steals for his “songs”? Dis a better approximashun.

Now you city folk might need ‘un piece of advise and Ah givs it for frees: youse needs to be in th’ joke to get dis folks. If youse expect your big cahootin’ ramblomatic heartbrokin pieces of cultural dabblins of poets, youse not welcome. WE DO NOT TOLERATE YOUSE ARCADE FIRED KIND IN DIS FINE STABLISHMINT!

If youse likes th’ idea of pluggin’ a rusty banjo in a Marshall stack, drinkin’ ’til yer bass player’s liver explodes and youse hide the body an’ sing ’bout it, then dis yer music, y’hear? Now get cahootin’, grab a shotgun and shot some birdies for dinners, yeee-haaw!

Other thing, youse youn’ ‘uns dat hav no attention span an’ hav more issues than a newspaper stand will be goin’ for yer cheap, fast fix. The Satan-approved jams of dis eeeh-pee is the followin’ :  ‘7 year itch’, ‘Laura / coconut trance’ ‘n’ ‘Get it on’. Then werk yer way ’round it if youse wants.

Remembers, there be some jokes that might flyin’ over yer noggin’, so if ‘Christmas is here (Mexicana)’ doesn’t hold yer attention, you might want to skip ‘Coyote song’ (which Ah wouldn’t, but Ah likes the boys’ humor). Now, scuse me, ‘Sheriff’s Hiss’ be playin’, times to be risin’ the inverted cross, yesiree bob!

But Ah digress…

Hot diggity damn do! Dis here is an ee-pee worth of songs ‘n’ banter worthy of a whole stack o’ ribs back at Cousin Walter’s Hog Emporium. Don’t belive me? Fine, city boy. But if youse be warnts to lissen’ to the burgeoning genre of deathbluesmetal ‘n’ has a sense of humor on that pick up-shaped brain of yers, do put your ear to the ground and lissen to dis zombies. Ah swear on my Alamo-raidin’ granpaw that is a hollerin’ fun ride for the most part.

xXx
Uncle Billy Bob Ortega (aka Tuco Benedicto Pacífico Juan María Ramírez)

Links:

Wet Nuns

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