O'Death: Imagine one of the weirder Tom Waits albums, but even weirder. Spawned in northern New York, the band explains itself thusly: "Five guys, maybe three shirts between them, take to the stage. There's a banjo, a fiddle, a drum set littered with gas cans, chains, and broken cymbals. Then they all start howling, stomping; it's an anachronistic jug-band party in a junkyard with sing-along hooks and weathered vocals from another time... This is the world of O'Death." And we're so there — odd as it sounds, all those dissonant, tribal world-music hooks are totally catchy.
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