Yes, the greatest rock 'n' roll album ever made. A black train ride through the soil in which rock grew, the dreamlike and nightmarish landscapes of the North American south. Jeffrey Lee Pierce, The Gun Club's prime mover, saw first what no one has ever expressed better: Robert Johnson and Hank Williams, Strange Fruit and the KKK, firebrand Christianity and a demonology of voodoo, will-o'-the-wisps and folk devils - all this belonged together, filtered through the poetic sensibility of Faulkner and the stripped down attack of Bo Diddley, shot through with mysticism and sexual violence. Sung, spoken and screeched in Pierce's unmannered middle-American voice, it transcended pastiche like none of the cartoon possessed who trod this furrow after Pierce ploughed it. The feral animi of blues and country had always contained the germ of this ferocious punk apotheosis, and punk, in finding the venomous undercurrent in its prehistory, discovered the source of its own power.
And yes, it's worth buying for the lyrics alone.
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