the mummies: play their own records!
if you don’t like ugly fuzzing hiss or brain-mangled fidelity stop reading and get back to yr second life rape room.
me? i dig this.
the mummies: buncha cheap obnoxious skuzzy bastards. making dumb-ass lo-fi racket on shoddy old damaged gear. staggering around like wild buggering drunks wrapped in dirty bandages, spitting fuck you’s at their audience and the public in general. knuckle dragging wise guys from the future past.
garage punk, surf, budget rock. blahblahblah.
what you need to know is that the mummies were/are bloody ace. stupidly so. if they hadn’t dug their scrawny wasted carcasses out of the ground at the fag-end of the eighties somebody would have had to man the shovel themselves.
they’ve released a bunch of stuff over the past double decade, on a few marvelous labels, including but not exclusive to: estrus and sympathy for the record industry.
they travel through time.
they say things like, when in doubt you just play faster
they influenced a whole buncha name droppers in the ‘punk/garage scene’.
they dig vinyl.
they recorded only one proper record – never been caught.
they toured and split up and toured and split up then reappeared in valencia at last years funfest dracula carnival. i didn’t go. they may have been shit (well shitter than normal. (ha!)) for all i know.
all of these facts are true.
the mummies play their own records is a collection of all their cranky mucky muddy early shenanigans and seven inchers. rawer than flesh stripped knees on gravel paths. flipper than that goddam squawking dolphin. i don’t like to use the phrase sloppy organ. but i will.
it’s perverse, rock and roll at it’s finest.
sheer bloody genius.
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live: maxwells: jersey (the full set!)
there’s another beast of a video here but i can’t get the fucker embedded so y’ll have to diy it.
