I Hit a Wall is a long drag off an unfiltered cigarette. The billowing smoke chokes the lungs, locks them into breathlessness. The momentary glimpse of the human body shutting down as the brain hovers to process death: that’s the bourgeoisie cool of Mad Nanna. The A-side goes through a pack as it leans against the garage wall, too cool to move due to the perfect slacker pose. It’s a lazy jam, exhaling the tar and deciding to live another dreary day in 50s hotrod heaven. The flipside jumps into the moonshiner and drives until it runs out of gas. Pretense disappears into necessity, the burning desire of Mad Nanna leaving its flat surroundings and getting lost in the middle of the desert until the band physically hits the walls, bodies flying through the stale air into infinity. Mad Nanna’s where it’s at, an era removed from being a Russ Meyer house band. We will never be as cool as we are when we’re listening to this.
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