Strap yourself in tight to your bucket seat in your goddamn Dodge Challenger or whatever the fuck you’re driving, because you’re going to riff city. A wiser man than myself once coined the term “a kick of rock ‘n’ roll to the nuts,” and this album appears to be just that. If this is indeed what some of the dudes from Iron Chic are doing in their spare time, I’m thrilled.
There’s little to be known or found out about this album, but it’s fantastic. Dirty, filthy, greasy, beer-soaked riff rock is a timeless art, and these guys are doing it. There’s definitely a lot of Hot Snakes and The Bronx in this, with just enough tough guy beatdown piss and vinegar in the vocals. This band needs to tour with Single Mothers so Single Mothers actually have someone appropriate to play with and stop having to play the cobbled-together bills they’ve been touring with for the past few years. Throw a Louisville band (Black God or Whips/Chains) on there for good measure and you’ve got yourself a hell of a rock tour.
Highlights of ‘Fortune Teller’ include the first track, ‘Sick and Tired’, which seriously will make you feel like a posthumous James Dean scooped you up, yelled “LET’S GO, FUCKER,” and floored it off into the sunset. ‘Headed for the Big Sleep’ is also a ripper song, and is a good callback to older Louisville stuff (Black Cross, etc.). “I’m going home in a fucking body bag.”
In an age where a lot of bands are busy trying to reboot and revive the pop-punk and emo anthems of their teen years (which is great, mind you), it is refreshing to see a band come out (out of that scene, no less), that just concerns itself with making you feel like you just took a bath in motor oil after drinking way too much Dickel. Here’s to hoping there’s more where this came from.
JIM HOWES