Then there are all these preppy-ass pop-rock groups, makeup sportin’ cats lookin' like they just stepped out the funny dorms. Pop-rock, huh?.Pop Rocks, fuckin' candy land bands, man. I don't wanna listen to that shit, man.

I got out Miami, for San Francisco. Who’s doin’ it out here? Parchman Farm, with Aesop Rock’s wifey and shit on guiiitar. Damn, she is hot as shiiiet; Def Jux stunna hubbied up with a thrash goddess, and she wails proper on backing vox too - weird how life works.

These fuckers done took it straight back to them dirty, sweaty, runnin' and gunnin', good ole beer swiggin' gun slingin' Americana rock roots.

Not that I was living to hear any of this type of music up in the hazy clubs during the late ‘60s, but I'm thinking it was most definitely akin to seeing these cats perform this NYE. The only music Parchman Farm has circulating is the five-song joint above you, released in 2004 on Jackpine Social Club.

These cats gig like fiends in San Francisco. They're a fixture in this ‘60s hard- psychedelic-americana-rock-revival goin' on over here. The venue for a Parchman show in January was blessed with the highest amount of alcohol sales it had ever seen! Settin' records like that ain't no joke out here. Yeah, you can find ‘em all over them cheesy-ass social networks. Their bassist belongs to Genghis Khan, another band all up in it, and dude is on a Mongolian rampage for the ages.

Now it’s my fourth consecutive listen, and tis still doin' it for me. Time to grab a case of Tecate, skree out in my El Camino, and shoot stops signs wit my glock. Peeeace.

-Paavo Steinkamp