Heavy Hands

Pounding, squealing, rabid, feral. A man with a classic rock voice that melts the cockles like butter on a biscuit. If you like your rock subtle and tepid, look elsewhere. Heavy Hands is like a stew, a bubbling cauldron of secret ingredients, spiced with a dash of Motorhead, maybe a quarter teaspoon of Jesus Lizard in the rhythm section, a pinch of Drive Like Jehu in the leads. Not only does this clearly smell like rock, but it's also a sensorial aphrodisiac. From four Omaha-based horsemen of the rock apocalypse.