A-Bomb Chop Shop

One of the many devil children spawned from contemporary pop punk fallout. Since their conception in 2004, A-Bomb Chop Shop has made a trademark out of being a liability to themselves leaving a path of slash and burn destruction all across the Midwest coast.
They’re four guys, not unlike any four other dudes, except for the forty years of adult life they collectively wasted in this rural town. They hadn't lived here their whole lives, but might as well have. They were all been born in some mud hole no more than a stone's throw over one county line or another. None of them had done anything particularly exceptional but they figured, more or less, that they had seen all there was to see in this life; the drug abuse, the cross-dressing, the alcoholism, the failed marriages, the bill collectors, and even the lonely park bench of the homeless man who just started a fire with a half smoked cigarette on the couch of his last friend. Rubbed their chins on a scratch'n post that used to be a serial number at the base of some generic saturday-nite-special, their lips had tasted its cheap, bitter steel. Yet they never crossed that line, and it wasn't because their ex-wives loved them or because they realized they were being spoiled, mommas’ boys. What stopped them was the sudden flash of a peculiar memory, an odd nonsensical verse to a song never written, a punch line to a joke they knew they could tell better than anyone. Who cares how they met. One degree of separation was enough and you can do what ever you want with the other five, because the answer was right there.
Playing around 75 shows while putting about 15,000 miles on the odometer. Others have done more, to be sure, but you can tell that they still find some level of satisfaction knowing that they have done it on their own, their own way. All their pretty clothes are wrecked and so is half their gear. That’s the way it rolls in a rock n’roll band of this magnitude. A belligerent, soaked front man, guitar sling’n maniac, tomohawk’n his ax into the air, an abstracted and deft drummer squeezing everything he can out a half-tank of gas. Uncle Kevin tries to hold it all together, but there’s only so much you can do with a group such as this.
“Rock n'roll didn't save us, we saved it, and anyone who thinks were full wrong can pull up a barstool the next time we come through town and find truth the hard way, just like we did.” – Big Pelvis Elvis