Take the Los Angeles that Dangerhouse captured, double the Exene, strain it through John Reis’ exotic take on the California sun, pour in a Brown Bronco’s worth of Long Beach, and enjoy the shadowy, hostile, born-in-a-bar elegance of White Murder.
Impulsively orchestrated, the songs simultaneously latch on and push away. The vocals plunge to humanity’s depths, only being brought back up by the balance of the bass and guitar. In the center, the drummer, too busy to sit down. Someone’s gotta keep the pot from boiling over.
The waves break and vanish, but the cracks in the sidewalk just keep getting bigger. How can a city feel so dark when the sun is always shinning? It all comes back to the people.