17 February 2010
by Eddie Thomas
Cow punk. That’s how the biog describes this band. Somewhere out there, some bone-idle trustafarian prick is sitting at a huge desk making up these fucking genres while he charges the oral services of an unpleasant prostitute to daddy’s companies credit card and shuffles his investments in the arms and pollution industry to maximum destructive effect. I’m onto you, you cunt, and one of these days I’m gonna come bursting into that office and take your fucking eyes...
Woah! Sorry, don’t know what came over me there. Nurse, the drugs! Anyway, where were we? Jason And the Scorchers play an amped up type of good ole boy country with shades of rockabilly groove when they get to the higher tempos. Something about their sound makes me also think of classic Wildhearts for some odd reason too – and they really know how to get some sweet sounds out of their instruments too.
Personally, for me too much of the time this is cheesier than a camembert factory workers socks and sounds like the car chase music from the Dukes Of Hazzard more frequently than is comfortable. Yet when they get it right, they really get it right; there are some heartrendingly brilliant lines and moments of musical magic here and there. I can’t dispute that on the occasions when they hit the spot, Jason and co can make the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, such as on the plaintive “Beat On The Mountain”. It might not be for me, but there are a few people I know who will shit sideways with glee when they hear this record.