The template may be quotidian as dry toast but the differences come with the influences. LLC sound like early ZZ Top, if Billy Gibbons and Frank Beard had dropped Dusty Hill and headed off on an extended sabbatical to the Mississippi Hill Country to soak up the lineage that runs from Fred McDowell through R.L. Burnside, firsthand. The latter man is in fact an anointed hero in their pantheon and comes out in Freddy’s fuzz-saturated slide and the thundering fife/drum beats of Breck’s junk pile kit, a loose conglomeration of duct-taped plastic buckets and metal garbage pails. Purposefully primitive, but surprisingly pithy in their use of trance-inducing riffage, the songs waste little and leave little wanting. “Big Momma” and “Busket” contain breaks custom-built for bruising head banging amidst the coiled coarse-grain leads, lyrics barked in a raw-throated croak. “Justify” burns on the friction of a stentorian backbeat tied to more venom-spitting fret play, a 21st century retooling of the Diddley staple “Hush Your Mouth”. - Bagatellen
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