I admit I was enjoying the acoustic guitar leads of this release just fine before Frank Hurricane, leading man of Hurricanes Of Love, starting yammering and tellin’ stories and shit, yet there’s something about this fella. I dig what he does. He rambles on and on, weavin’ yarns I assume are from his life, and even as he slips hints of humor into his tales the focus is never lost, and when he cuts out and the instrumentals (sounds like two gee-tars to me) rise above it’s an inspiring thing. He also attempts melodies, and while I’m not sure how successful he is in that endeavor, I don’t have a problem with it anymore than I have a problem sippin’ gumbo juice outta Dr. John’s bluesy asshole (wait, you didn’t have to do that?), dippin’ a little Dylan in my cheek, or goin’ all bohemian with Banhart. Feeding Tube are simply masters of the left-field find. Such rural, soulful sounds, undercut by Hurricane’s theatrics, make for a grainy brew you’ll need to let sit for a spell before you chug. Some of it might get caught in your beard regardless, so buck the-fuck up chump.
More about: Hurricanes Of Love
