Graveyard Shindig

描述

Product Description Graveyard Shindig is a collection of nine evil original songs. The Creepniks play a combination of surf, rockabilly and spaghetti western. If you take these genres, throw in a shrunken head, mix them in a blender and do a voodoo ritual you'll get something along the lines of the Creepniks' "Graveyard Shindig." Four of the nine songs are surf/spaghetti western instrumentals. The other five songs include the degenerate crooning of the Creepniks’ lead singer Johnny Lockjaw. This album was used by MTV in 2004 throughout the entire season of the Real World San Diego and has also been featured in a handful of independent films. Review ...a perfect funeral march for a fallen rider. --Reverb Central, June 20th 2004 P.when('A').execute(function(A) { A.on('a:expander:toggle_description:toggle:collapse', function(data) { window.scroll(0, data.expander.$expander[0].offsetTop-100); }); }); About the Artist All the local students were in attendance at the Fall Festival dance in the gymnasium at Elkhart Jr-Sr High. A local band, The Rockin’ Daddy-O’s, was belting out the hits of the day. The students were hopping, bopping, and having a gay old time when a scream pierced the air. A young girl at the front of the audience was admiring the dashing good looks of the Daddy-O’s frontman, Jake Henson, when she noticed something was terribly wrong. The heat of the house lights had begun to affect Jake’s face; it was blistering and peeling at the edges. As this rotten façade sloughed off, the dancers bore witness to something that had lain dormant for years; the thing that had been found in that desolate pasture all those years ago. The decayed cadaver continued to lurch and sing, spewing graveworms all over the mike and the audience as the flayed features of the once-handsome singer settled into a putrid pile at his feet. Upon seeing the grim visage and hearing the unholy shouts of Hellfire, the attendees at the dance started to panic, running each other over as they fled for the doors. The rest of the band followed the decaying frontman’s lead, shedding the hollowed bodies of the band members that they had so mercilessly gutted an hour before. That all-too-familiar rune was visible on their slime-covered faces, leering like skeletons through a tissue-thin layer of gelatinous skin and grave wax. The walls trembled with! the throbbing pestilence of their riotous cacophony. The youngsters in the audience were running, screaming, vomiting, fainting… all trying to escape the evil that befell them. But just as they reached the gymnasium doors, they came crashing in under the weight of the reanimated corpses who had silently surrounded the gym. Legions of these fly-blown corpses shuffled in through the doors, each bearing the mark on their foreheads. The students nearest them were overcome by the utter stench of death and degradation that engulfed them. The undead army tore through the students, pulling entrails from young bellies, tearing out eyes with exposed fingerbones. An unearthly chorus of moans, like the choir of Hell, filled the gymnasium to the rafters. Some students simply stood there in a pool of their own urine, hands to their ears, chanting mantras of disbelief. The carnage was total. The hardwood floors were covered in the flesh and blood-matted hair of the dancers. The whole scene looked like some blasphemous collage of anatomy books; a respiratory system here, a jellied brain there, the whole building bathed in the sheared-copper smell of teenage blood. And onstage, the band played on. In the decades following that brutal night, the town of Elkhart was quarantined off from the rest of the world. There was too much danger that the evil would spread. Sources say that you can still hear that hellish band playing in the now-decrepit gymnasium, now resembling more than anything the maw of Hell. And the band plays on forever there, until the end of times when the Abyss will be thrown wide open to welcome them back home. Until then, the rest of the world can only pray that their evil is contained; that the naïve ears of the populace should never hear their damning racket or heed their luciferian beckon. That infernal tool of Satan, the Creepniks! See more Review: leave the vocals in the vault - This collection of ghoulish tunes straight from Cassandra Peterson's cleavage owes a lot to Sergio Leone and Link Wray. The singer sounds like someone's put a clamp on his stones. It's a novelty act. What did MTV see in this? I give it 3 Stars I guess. 2 would be more like it. Should you buy it? Probably not. Review: You don't hear this every day! - It wasn't all that long ago that I was exposed to The Creepniks and their unique blend of wild west, surf-a-billy, and rock n' roll madness. Take The Red Elvises, The Route 66 Killers, and The Meteors, plow them down with a '57 Chevy, bury their mangled corpses in unmarked graves in the desert wastelands of left America, have a witch doctor perform a ritual to bring them back to life as flesh-crazed, guitar-weilding zombies of the night, and you have The Creepniks. Occasionally, Johnny, the singer, sounds a bit like the King---our favorite Memphis stiff, Elvis Presley!---with a slit throat and lungs punctured by shards of ribcage. That is, he has a deep, wavery, hip voice that, although cool and agreeable in a lot of ways, possesses a talent somewhat disproportionate to his fingers (which, let's be honest, play the hell out of a six-string). Speaking of playing the hell out of a six-string, the lead guitarist, Seth, puts down some amazing notework over Johnny's twangy rhythms. Jack provides the low-end on the thick strings of his bass, while Pablo rocks the drum kit like it's nobody's buisiness. These four Texans are what the music world too often lacks---diversity, experimentation, originality, and open-mindedness. Sadly, I think the Creepniks have since gone their separate ways. We can only hope for a reunion. And if not a reunion, I then hope that each finds his way into a new and equally great endeavor. The graveyards of America just won't be the same unless their sound continues in some way. Check out Graveyard Shindig on Gravewax Records, though. I would dare say that you'll be glad you did.