While we’re in the neighbourhood then. The transition from Prince Buster to Rancid seemed seamless. How far we can come so quickly. Born in ’69 by Rocket From The Crypt is as classic an alternative anthem as you could ever hope to hear and an easy slip from Timebomb into this horny swagger of parps and swinging confidence.
This 50’s B-Movie rocker has the feel of a Swamp Thing that was made when the local record pressing plant melted down all it’s old miss-pressed Rockabilly records and dumped the attitude infused molten plastic into the water supply that ran out to the edge of town.
Years of Eddie Cochran gave way to The Stones, then The Damned, The Saints, Motörhead and then finally in the mid 1990’s a creature born in that rock n roll contaminated river rose up from the banks and took over a near by idling tour bus one dark and stormy night.
When the now possessed touring party arrived at their venue the following day the transmogrification was complete. And off stepped Rocket From The Crypt with glowing eyes and flaming trumpets.
At least that’s the way my mate Adam told me it happened. I wasn’t there.
Still, it’s gig time so… Wallet chains tucked up into your suit pants pockets, loosen the top button on your waistcoat and tip your pork pie hat, oh and you’d better get ready to dance. From here we could go back to The Cramps, left with Queens Of The Stone Age or down and dirty with some Jon Spencer. We could go to Blondie, to Dance Hall Crashers or To The Ramones…