Sleazegrinder. A real monster mash from the home of The Hormonas here, thankfully bereft of the cheese encrusted overkill of the ‘Freddy vs Jason’ thrash-metal with a double-bass splatter clichéd cash-ins of many psychobilly coffin-cribbers that torment us nowadays. Despite titles like ‘Io Sono Il Diavolo’ (I Am The Devil’) and ‘Le Porte Dell’Inferno’ (‘The Gates of Hell’ or something) the demon-inferring sermons of The Bone Machine are more the vaudevillain Voodoo of Screaming Jay Hawkins than thirteenth rate horrorpunk, being incandescent with classical Rockabilly stylings taken roughly any which way it fucking comes by early Meteors swing, evinced by their stunning stomp all over a more than ready, willing, gagged, bound and gasping for it ‘Questi Stivali Sono Fatti Per Camminare’ (ayuss, that be ‘These Boots Are Made For Walking’), and some swivel-hipped temptress titillating guitar tiki-fying testimonies none more so than on ‘Lei E’ Andata Via’ (‘She’s Gone Away’, it seems). Mutzhi Mambo by their very name make you wanna twist, shout, shake and indeed mambo as though you’re a Zorro style hero out to rescue the demure doll who jest so happened to get herself stranded in a minefield of mamba’s at the height of Texas tornado season, all with the dash and élan of a suave suited sod, spy or, as they’re attired on the cover, a set of Sicilian wiseguys, sorta like Nick Cave surfing in to declare fiesta open ‘cept The Cramps got there first and laced the ice-cubes with cleavage-corking concoctions. And don’t let the fact that it’s all hollered in Italian cause you to stumble either, as the language really lends itself to the inherently ghoul-groping stomp of ‘Billy investing it with the threateningly seductive dark allure of a vampires stare.
-Stu