This bassless trio boasts one of the more distinctive sounds on our (or any other) scene. Surf-size guitar, slaphappy organ and manic drums blur into nonstop pop delight, the musical equivalent of a blind-drunk skate date in the garage of some New Orleans frat house. This, their third long-player, sketches an appealing outline, but the full effect of “Red Hot Car,” “Casmere and Campau,” “My Catalina” and the rest can only be experienced in the flesh. Yours.
This article appears in May 27 – Jun 2, 1998.