Flamejob

classic stuff the addition of a bass player gave the cramps a heavier sound more like traditional rock music,but dont worry they are still at their whacky,weird and wonderfull best on flamejob.if your fed up with your record collection and are looking for something different the cramps could be your answer,start with off the bone and then flame job.

Ivy gives a demonstration of the flamejob sex beat. Acetylene torch ready to explode into electric sparks. Inside the covers she welds her Gretsch to the rhythm of Route 66 and we are off on another Cramps whizz down the highway. Dressed in black clinging PVC and sky high heels she kicks and sweats these tunes into contorted shapes their forebears would be loud and proud to observe. Stripped, primed and painted n licked, fit and ready for a 21st century blast.

Lux the conductor of mania, gets his tongue deep into Beelzebub's finest showtunes on the mike. His take of "Sinners" resurrects the dead with a wink to the wonky devil of possession. Trapped Love becames less claustrophobic when Lux throttles and shakes its coffin lid, expanding the original to bring out its sense of solitary confinement.

Ultra Twist introduces the new mania for swivelling on the twister into Karma Sutric contours. Try jigging to this whilst going up and and then down on an object of desire. This is for those who can twist and not for those who are too stiff to be a straight.

After the match dissection, don't go for the cigarette. Listen to "How come you do me?" Not a complaint but a compliment.

In the first acknowledgement to the world outside his and hers self composed Rockarola universe, Lux takes a long swish bow before surrealists 21stC finest, dedicating Naked Girl Faling Down the Stair to them. Thereby making the first link between the bizzare mondo world of rockabilly/r'n b to the art movement that shook the imagination. Yes mr and mrs art shlockers rockabilly is nearer to surrealism than your pressed fecal signed Jeff Koons dough balls!

Irretrievably the Cramps created the blueprint for the launch of pop surrealism and the flotilla of a thousand cartoon Elvegren, Avery imaginations to float their beauty boats follong Dali's dreamworld mount on Coney Island.

The legacy of the Cramps scorching celestial balls of fire are bringing life to the killers, the ones who made the beat between 57-62 lying dormant in shallow cultural graves. Watering and nurturing their seeds of ascent, a waft of the plants creating hallucinogenic surreal blasts of 3 minute frenzy before they faded and serious prog plank spankers brought non meaning with their brownbeards.

The true pearl kings and queens should be inducted into the thread of art lineage for their sparkling imagination. Since Lux went to Elviswonderland, the world lapsed into a monochrome dip.

No one ever came close to the pent up exhuberant bizzare challenge to all things mundane, as the Cramps collective vision. They rekindled the best of the past to ensure it was kept alive in the present otherwise those who came after the event would never know the where the real scene had laid and where they were conceived. Corporate bootlickers get down on your knees and prey.

Without the Cramps and their discoveries, America would just be perceived as a mundane happyclappy spiteful adolescent bereft of kulture. Instead its the land of two free bounding sprites creating soul magic with their wonder.

Meanwhile the moral majority apparently just chomp, chew, swallow and stare.