It all sounds like the deviant dancefloor ramblings of a Texan madman - which is precisely what it is - cocking a wry, skewed look at disco standards from a knowingly punk perspective; imagine the Starck Club circa '84 programmed by a Sherm Stick-smoking noise shaman and you've almost got a grip on its oily, prickling chassis, riddled with hooks and and seatbelt-testing swerve. Whatever it is, it's bags of sleazy, rotten fun. Highly recommended.
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