The Brooklyn boys used to yell “BALLS DEEP!” when the night had taken a turn in which no fucks could ever possibly be given and the beer swirled and the speed furled and sometimes eyebrows were shaved, hissing cockroaches eaten and half-naked strangers or rollercoasters, you know? That was a sweet fucking time to be alive in the city. Marshalls crushed, hoodwinks howled and there was this one place that sold dollar Buds on Tuesdays, I think. Now there’s Beech Creeps and let’s forget all the Vice and condo bullshit in between because these motherfuckers have the sac to subdue even the most erudite of wax moons with their killer swill of fuck art, let’s party (or kill) ten-ton tunage. Dudes. This “Sun of Sud” shit is ridiculous and the clip that coincides it is just the sort of anti-reason bellow that the Mats used to follow back when Tim, et al. but out there and careless as a ridden red-dicked devil. It’s the first banger off their (assuredly) epic eponymous effort (due 3/3 on Monofonus) and will make your life better for all those broke bottle cares. You can soak it below. Rockit.
WATCH! Beech Creeps Watch the Watchers Watching, Wasted in “Sun of Sud”