Like a bulldozer made of silicone breasts but fueled on the bones of the dead, the
música del fuego y del fango of Dragon Green is both sinister and giving, enticing
yet dangerous, an undertaker's grin and an angel's frown in equal measure. To call
such a thing "Stoner Sludge" or "Space Doom" or even "Lysergic Fuck Metal", to make
mention of similar electric warriors of frightful, slumberous freak-drone like 5ive,
or Warhorse, or Sabbath, or fuckin' Bloodrock, might give you some vague sense of
direction. But believe me, baby, it's a lone stabbing finger in a blinding blizzard
of awe, because this is no mere rock and roll band. Dragon Green are a black circus,
a psychedelic sideshow of flash and rumble from deep within the serpent's belly. There
are no words in these sonic transcripts, by the way, unless you speak in colors and
intensities. There may be Earth-bound reasons for this, I haven't asked. I only know
that there's ample room for your own screams, your own whispers, your own tattoo burned
on another's skin like some profane ritual of intimate communion, only amplified until
even the goddamn dead can hear it in their graves. Call them an interactive experience,
they won't mind. Dragon Green are more than willing to share the blame.
As if the deep dark pummeling the Dragon Green promise your ears weren't enough, they
also seek to burn your eyeballs right out of their sockets with the same kind of
narco-phrenic visual over-load that only dangerous prophets and religious serial killers
can truly understand. Unless you are one or the other, than you'll simply be rattled to
the tits by a barrage of things that should not be and things that never were flashing
across your retinal screen, until you are no longer sure whether you are watching a band
or vice versa, when the sights and sounds, and Jesus, the fucking smells, and the groping
hands and tongues and the hot breath of madness all come crashing down in a heap of smoke
and muscle tissue and burning rubber and popping neurons and you have finally reached it,
that state of deep fried bliss that the drugs and the sex and the guns and the gods could
never provide. No wonder they call it doom. There is no coming back after riding the tail
of the Dragon Green, that much is for certain.
Beyond that, all is noise. I can't imagine what further information you could possibly
need, but for the record, Dragon Green consists of Mike Clancey, Joe America,
and Manimal, half of which are real, and half of which are mostly figments of their own
imaginations, depending on the day and magnetic wave. The future bodes well for our heroes,
as they spend many nights in the trenches blowing
minds and leaving in a trail of dust before the brain police arrive.
