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There are places in the American Desert Southwest where, I swear, at 3am on a hot summer night, you can pull off the interstate, step out next to a Joshua Tree, and hear this music seeping up through the sand. I know. I've heard it making heat waves in the moonlight, gently rustling shed snake skins and drifting through the sun bleached skulls of wayward cattle. A thousand years of arrows, bullets, blood, and sorrow; countless unclaimed buried treasures, and the undiscovered bones of lustmord lay buried out there. You can't tell me it doesn't have a sound. The Fury... Heat! nailed it. - Ginnie Moon (Lunar Hypnosis) THE
PRIMAL, THE POWER, THE FURY... HEAT! |
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The night starts off sitting at home bored as hell. There's nothing to do so in desperation I got on the Internet to try and find some hope. There was a flyer saying Fury Heat at Ireson's Pub basically the flyer said come to the show or sit on your ass all night doing nothing and if that is what you want to do then screw you. So I went to the show where my ears got pulverized by the ambiguous and very loud rants of Moose's stream of consciousness Rockabilly music. Ireson's Pub is located in Bristol, TN on 7th street and is a very friendly and warm place to be but they only serve beer, and with music that can bring a tear to a man's eye like the Fury Heat, it would be nice to sip on some liquor while enjoying the show. - Sean Gibney AC Associated Content High Octane Rock
and Roll forged in the backwoods of Tennessee. The Fury...Heat has raised a
bastard child genetically styled with a mouthful of attitude. Steeped in tradition
yet snarling at convention, The Fury…Heat swerve all over the road of
rock and roll leaving a road kill trail of punk, blues, and rockabilly in its
wake. Lo Fi and dirty, the songs scratch their way out of the heart, tear
through the current, and howl with the anger and desire of a three legged
hound dog at a greyhound race. In an age where the plastic bumpers and wal
mart spinners are as abundant as the plastic music it embraces, it revives
my soul and sears my blood to see the prime metal grill of The Fury…Heat
tearing ass across the musical highway. Like an unleaded ghost it spreads
all of those plastic shards across the asphalt, and without remorse disappears
into it’s own blue beat. If the smell of a Plymouth Fury’s exhaust
is your breath of fresh air, and the beat of bygone rock and roll mimics your
heartbeat, then friends, jump in your piece of crap car, travel down your
nearest deserted road, rev your engine five times and buckle up as this rock
and roll ghost comes to deliver your ass salvation. ~Argyle Goolsby
It's rare to hear so much raw truth in a band. This music dares you to defy it's right to exist. In fact, you may walk away swearing this music has been around since the first time someone gripped his sweaty palm around a steering wheel in anger. This is pure, primal rock n' roll with country/western sensibilities and a generous layer of road dust. From the who needs distortion when you have over-drive guitar riffs; the precise, don't fix what ain't broken drumming; to the growling, Marlboro-soaked vocals. It's an anxious, desperate, dirty, 4 shots in, goin' 60 in a 45, glimmer of hope. If the world ended on a July day in the driver's seat of a '58 Plymouth on a small town road, this band would be providing the soundtrack. - Gordon Von Ghoul The depth of the
soul houses some of the most painful, dark and hopeless emotions known only
to those who feel it. Everything is black. Everything is nothing. Everything
is empty like a tomb that has been robbed. Strange days are at hand when someone
can convey those feelings to others. Music is the perfect breeding ground
of that rare occurrence. Imagine driving for hours but getting nowhere...just
passing the same places over and over again. Imagine burying true love just
to cleanse your soul. Imagine chasing something you can never have. Imagine
Rock and Roll gone horribly wrong. Imagine The Fury...Heat! |
