Che Guevara T-Shirt – White Fever – Music Review

Che Guevara T-Shirt – White Fever – Music Review


Che Guevara T-Shirt
White Fever
Bandcamp Page

Whereas my beloved Steel Pole Bathtub would take the wide, dingy, dirty spaces of the sewer to travel the highways and bi-ways of this land, Che Guevara seem content to take the dusty, dirty, smoke covered overpass through the dry desert on their journey. As if you haven’t guessed by now, every thing I write about filters through me, it’s the only thing I really have half a handle on. Sometimes not even that.

Everything in my life, even when I’m taking out the trash or walking to work, I hear a song or a beat in my head. It’s a strange fuzzing of my brain, it’s way of trying to white out the droning noise it makes when it thinks. So songs will pop up again in my mind after listening to them, in certain situations, even in my piece meal, dirty bomb rubbish dreams.

As these songs played in my dreams the other night, Tommy Craig, a high school friend of mine, and I were lying in a ditch, covered head to shoe in dirt and stale beer. I don’t know if we had crashed Tommie’s Camaro or if we’d been walking and ended up in the ditch. This album is floating into my dream, while my beer soaked, fuzzy headed partner and I try with everything to get up out of the ditch and figure where we are at.

I’m in Tommie’s grandparents basement now, the weed is kicking in and my head is about to expand and evaporate when all the sudden Clark (another friend from high school) and I hear something coming from upstairs, “It’s got to be Tommy with the booze” Clark says, but we hear multiple people talking. Half way up the stairs we realize it’s Tommie’s brother, sister in law and mom checking on the house. We are trapped with now way out and this weed is really making me paranoid and creeped out.

This is the way that I feel when I listen to this album, it brings back half baked random memories of things that happened with so much weird blotting and patchy psychosis, that I’m not sure that most of it was made up and maybe even the things that I have thought as true and real might in the end be something that my brain has made up to disorient and distract me from the real problems. It’s a gas man, a real gas. And I don’t even talk like this.

So check this out for yourselves. Follow the link, maybe take some mushrooms or smoke a bluntish type of affectation material, and see where it leads you, or just give this a listen and see if the “wraith” doesn’t remind you of the Jazz Odyssey numbers from This is Spinal Tap. I’m beginning to think that drinking all that NyQuil before doing this review was a …..really good idea.

This review was written by a little gnome, who’s head is fiery red . He has strong hands made of mud and spit, and can kick an Orc’s nuts from ten feet away. Thank you for reading this nonsense, please do check out the LP and give us your feedback. brad@fatrobotradio.com

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