Local Wire

The Earps

Rock 'n' Western, country 'n' roll, twang and Taylor Ham — there's nothing new here, and that's fine. The Earps say it's about the '70s and they're right. These guys could be the Apache Junction descendants of David Allan Coe at his orneriest, a mutant barstool baby that is part Hank Jr. and part Hank III. The band is funny and nasty and the musical equivalent of an ocotillo boilermaker in a shotgun shack. There are four members — Hotwheels, Ump, Buckshot George, and Marvelous Matt — and they are fond of crooning wistfully about their dark, erotic encounters with 20-foot chickens and gorgeous drag queens. And in the song "Christ on a Crutch," one can perceive the deep sense of tragedy they felt about the time they mistook Jesus for a speed bump: "I hit Christ on a crutch; I ran him over" they sing. Maybe they can sell this one to the Cramps and combine it with their own "chicken-pluckin' run-amuckin' Elvis Fucking Christ." It's a thought.
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Henry Cabot Beck