And then there's the whole faux-surname, band/gang aesthetic of The Ramones, unless by some wild what-the-fuckery their names really are Bobby Hussy and Heather Hussy. (His could be; hers was apparently Sawyer when they began in 2008. Married bandmates, too? No confirmation of that so far).
On the musical end, things get a little fuzzier, not to mention more lysergic, for The Hussy.
Over the past five years, three mini-albums (2011's Cement Tomb Mind Control, 2012's Weed Seizure and the just-released Pagan Hiss) and a healthy number of EPs and singles, The Hussy has concocted a nut-kick sound that rivals the fist-pumping dumbass Rock anthemics of The Dictators, the howling mad Psych squall of Reigning Sound and the sloppily channeled spirits of a thousand British Invasion-influenced Garage Rock melodicists.
The Hussy's songs rarely barrel past the two-minute mark and they often end with the breathtaking finality of the police pulling the plug on a loud-in-the-next-county block party. One minute the Hussy is thundering like the bastard twin of The Stooges and The Nomads and the next it bops around like The B-52s if they'd envisioned "Rock Lobster" as a brutal, lo-fi Punk manifesto.
The Hussy's blistering studio intensity is outpaced only
by its raw, visceral live approach. If you're not a fan going into The
Hussy show, you'll be sporting their cauterized brand when they carry
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