Batton Down the Hatches
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The members of Tramp Shack are tramps in the true sense of the word, not unlike the loveable, vaudevillian hobo Charlie Chaplin made famous. Tramp Shack live under one slanty roof in a large, crooked shack tucked away in the dingy corner of San Perdo beneath the translucent blue arc of the Vincent Thomas Bridge. They rarely have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out; and yet, songs are written, steel strings are strummed and strangled, bass strings are punched and plucked, tambourines are banged, jagged blades jangling in frantic rhythmic frenzies, hungry mouths open to belch forth the melancholy melodies of neo-depression era songs fit to lift a bagged-bottle to better times. Rock Bottum has been kicked out of some of the best bands Los Angeles has to offer. He recently returned to San Pedro after a brief stint in Vegas and spends most of his time contemplating the never ending flow of ups and downs, both in and out of San Pedro. He prefers his bed to the park benches and bus stops he once called home. Despite or perhaps because of his troubles, he plays his bass guitar like an enraged lover, caressing, gently, the neck one moment…the next, pulling locks of wound-up wire with wild fists of fury. No matter what mood Rock Bottum is in, he always hears and responds to what the song is asking him to play. The lovely Topsy Turvy is the diamond in the ruff. She drags her damaged fingers across the nylon strings of a classical guitar in jagged-ragged rhythms, rattling barb wire-style chords while sugaring her sweet and sour voice over the top. She writes songs which explore the meaning of experience without coming across as cringingly contrite. Filthy Rich’s banjo-style guitar picking and ash tray-gravel-voice blends naturally with Topsy’s choppy attack and sweet, saturnine crooning. The three go together like the ocean, diesel fuel and smoldering cigarette butts. It could go either way-and it often does.
" Every 1st ThursDAZE @ the "Alley Gallery" on 6th St. In San Pedro!"
