JFK Didn't Even See It Coming

"Having first met JFK in 2008 as neighbors living a few steps away on a stretch of Clinton St. at the heart of Columbus' own Washington Beach.

Within ten minutes of introductions followed, almost immediately, by coughing our eyeballs out, the two had found my living room to be full of amplifiers and a drum set. The invitation to blow up my living room with sound was warmly invited as Damein ran back home to grab Doxxie, the Rickenbacker. On arrival, the amp was fired up and drum sticks were passed to Josh.

The next twenty or so minutes seemed to screw my head back in place in kind of a spiritual way. Riffs evolved out of nearly sporadic noodling that, no matter how far-out it had reached, was always bound with never-dull, straight-forward and Animal-like drumming pounding beneath the monstrous growl and brightly defined screaming fuzz of that Rickenbacker.

Galloping through a creature-feature kaleidoscope of riffs, leads, fat, buzzy and disgusting chords ebbing and flowing with the sound of drums like a bookshelf toppling over onto Keith Moon's kit inside a cloud of green smoke embellished with purple leather. Vocals are completely unnecessary in the land of these sounds. JFK had made a crater in that 10 x 10 room.

Seeing and HEARING them live is a treat for any head within range. Unassumingly bare bones while cloyingly rich with riffs, volume, and raw presence, your head won't know how to stop nodding. You will want to shout things like "MOTHERFUCK WHAAAAATTT?!?!?" (ala DMX) and start pouring beer on everyone around you because you now believe that humans can be intoxicated by osmosis because it's happening to you RIGHT NOW!!!

These guys know what a good time is, like a REALLY FUCKING BAD ASS kind of time, effortlessly arranging those sentiments into an aural representation of said times.

I'm now led to believe that Samuel L. Jackson was referring to JFK Didn't Even See it Coming when he blurted out "...hold on to your butts."'

(-John W. Peters)