I have a dream of a day when there are no longer formats, no longer genres. A day when hipsters, geeks, hillbillies, hip-hoppers, punkers and metalheads all see shows together, thanks to the continued miscegenation of musical styles. And if there's evidence of progress toward that day, it's the music of Scott H. Biram, whose hot-blooded guitar passion is the bastard product of an orgy involving the backwoods twang of Hasil Adkins, the raw blues of John Lee Hooker, the piercing chug of Motörhead, and the anarchic spirit of Gun Club. He may be only one man, but he's capable of an unholy squall. It's scratchy, loud and impassioned, conjuring the rebellious spirit of Johnny Cash and the throaty Delta blues of Mississippi Fred McDowell. A showman who lives for the stage, Biram was performing a month after being hit head-on by an 18-wheeler, despite broken limbs. His sound's built on a heritage that extends through the last 80 years, and you can hear the twists and turns in the crackle of distortion screeching from his old-fashioned tube amps and the growl as it leaps from his lips.
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