The EP has fallen into disuse lately, but as many old fugsters know, a band can make a much more powerful, definitive statement by issuing an ep than a CD fulla filla. So Captain Spud’s determination to made a scuff-mark on the world is that much more admirable.
Each song boinks along, throwing half-familiar disco riffs and segues at us, homicide noir glamour murders and hell, "Space Lounge" may as well be Kraftwerk at their most drunk, circa 1972.
Where do you get it? Pester Chris Spud on Facebook. I’m told there are several other releases which he may or may not be sitting on.
AND A SACK OF TEQUILA WORMS