Puscifer’s 2nd commercial product is an exception: Old rednecks can trick.
Having released quite a few tracks previously, for free, le club provided a long-time bunch-o-sound, disturbing enough, could have been the soundtrack to No Country for Old Men.
Echoing sounds of Floyd in lava fields, and subsequent prisms, on steroids, peyote and quaaludes, Puscifer pours honey on the acid crunch the great acts have accomplished, and added something the classical masters would’ve done, if their languages had been developed as well as...
Conditions of My Parole: Puscifer’s offering puns the punches in sand, with kung-fu, desert precision.