If you like your garage to be Coachwhips-heavy but of Black Lips fidelity, look no further than the Ghetto Ghouls (as opposed to their West Coast cousins, Cool Ghouls, also Cerbs-ees), a steamin’ Austin outfit that’s in like Flynn and out in the blink of an eye. A lot of these riffs have that 1950s locomotive feel, kicked into fourth gear and rarely hitting true overdrive (wherein distortion would become part of the equation), even kicking down into second for a few less-convincing outings on Side B. For me, the uncouth ragers of A equate to WHERE IT’S AT, and even though it’s all a bloody blur I can make out enough to pass along to you: Clean-sweeping guitars, a drummer not afraid to fill nor spill, a bassist in the middle of the shit sandwich, and a singer that’s passable in a carnival-barker kind of way while not factoring into the mix as much as you might assume. It’s all about the thrust of the arrangements, and they’re whip-tight despite the high speeds involved. Between this and that B-Lines 12-inch, looks like I chose the wrong week to quit bathtub speed. What’s more, I guess I can’t complain I haven’t had the chance to gorge on garage-rock anymore; shit’s getting real ‘round here. Keep it coming, you greasy bastardz.