"Camp X-Ray surprised the shit out of me and claimed, "It wasn't one of better shows or performances," or some shit like that. They killed it and I knew it, if not them. Joe P. was fantastic and played with the controlled abandon of a hyped up teenage Devildog straight off of Paris Island and weilded that weird ass guitar missing a pickup like a weapon he had ok'd with his superiors before rolling out into the field, the jungle , the desert to annihilate anything in his path. Kind of a smaller dude with a fucking cannon mockingly laying waste to the enemy and laughing about his infidel ways while drinking fine scotch while riding on the top of a tank through some bested village just conquered. Twistworthy reminded me of one of those people I've seen in bands who is playing but is so in another world they don't realize what is going on outside of the music and don't really care. He reminded me of bands like Sonic Youth or The Laughing Hyenas or even the mighty Black Flag. It was his way of not looking at the people and caught in something that just drove him to play. Like the lights were on, yes he was onstage, but he was not even there. He left the fucking island as soon as the music started and had no control but all the control in the world over the Rickenbacker he rode out of the room on. The other guitar player realized being near something in flames and periodically lashing out like the hooked tail of the devil might catch him by the ankle and reel him right to his amp and he'd die of being burned to death and being sucked into the vortex coming from his spealker into the devil's snare like Little Carol-anne from Poltergeist. The straightlaced gentlemean being the trap kit was clearly here to hold the ship together from careening into the jagged rocks and savages waiting onshore. Matt looked as if he had just returned from a day either batlling wall street bulls or an afternoon with the swimming/diving coach screaming in his ear whenever he arose from the azure water of the UT swimming facility. It's his straightlaced charm that won his wife's heart and we all know it. He has a touch of evil behind those Buddy Holly frames and the tattoos I'm sure helped. As for the singer, Johio. Watching his slow, white-boy stalking of the words and just barely holding back from returning to his roots and destroying the bar Cleveland-Old-Style was pretty interesting to watch. Part preacher, part late 60's White Panther with a touch of remaining teenage angst donning a New York brim he needn't have his gold tooth displayed, you could tell by his steez the motherfucker had it made, bad and nationwide." - Mike Flannery of The Scoot Inn.
