Holley 750 has played South by Southwest, toured with the Supersuckers and released a split CD with punk legend Antiseen. So why don't they get more props in the local scene? For starters, they're not exactly trying to spoon-feed their music to the masses. The band's latest full-length, Prison Rules, is a raw, unpasteurized splatter of shit, sperm and engine grease that couldn't give a fuck what anyone thought about it. Of course, that's what makes the disc so great: Huffing Motörhead's pit stench and the noxious, scorched-rubber fumes of Zeke, these twelve songs boil away the bullshit and leave a lean specimen of ugly, unkempt, terminally catchy punk rock that reeks like a corpse and grins like a skull. There's nothing remotely hip or ass-kissing about Holley 750 or Prison Blues. Be glad.
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