Pimpadelic

http://www.525.com/power-tracks.htm

Featured Artist September 2006 - 525.com

Pimpadelic
She's Dead (Down Rite Rotten)

Roll the tires, and light the fires, boys! She's Dead may not be rhythmically fit in the way 2000's Southern Devils coalesced Easy Jesus Coe's Pimpadelic with other trailer-park rap thrashers in Kid Rock mold. This time David Allan's nephew gets his hair metal on, ciphering Mötley Crüe crunch "out the trailer parks back in Saginaw" through Fort Worth junkie ballad "Plano Heroin." "Belly full of beers" or stuck with a busted chick, covering AC/DC's "Hell Ain't a Bad Place to Be" is an outlook that must run in the family. Easy J's never more than a loogie's hawk away from his uncle's twisted dreads, "I'll Never Change" professing "he means a hell of a lot to me, D.A.C." Take the advice of one Mysterious Rhinestone Cowboy at the jump: "Get some whiskey, pump it up, smoke it up." Pimpadelic's got the mojo to "Move Any Mountain," long as the almighty rock riff abides.

*** (3 stars) - Austin Chronicle - Chase Hoffberger

www.texasgigs.com

Genre: Rock

Sound description: A tiny bit of hip-hop and country thrown into a big pile of rock

RIYL: Hellions with tattoos and scarred skin

City: Fort Worth, TX

Web site: http://www.pimpadelic.com/

Pimpadelic, in the beginning, was a straight up glam band. Moving with the times, their sound slowly transformed into a rap/rock feel. Being versatile is what helps this band stay on top of their game. Now with a fresh new lineup, they are going back to their roots of good old fashioned rock.

Lead singer/guitarist Easy Jesus Coe claims he is the illegitimate nephew of outlaw country singer David Allan Coe.

- Texas Gigs.com

God help us all, but the next wave of triple-platinum, testosterone-suffused rap/rock could come from right here in Bush country, this brain-clouded land of "gumbo, Shiner Bock, Whataburger, and $100 bricks from El Paso!" In the salty tradition of Kinky Friedman and the Geto Boys, Houston's I-45 and Fort Worth's Pimpadelic are both out to prove that Texans come raunchier than anyone else, "psycho like no other motherfuckers." At least they sure as hell try. Pimpadelic are wifebeaters all the way, while the I-45 kids would probably choose to rock their BDP T-shirts, but somehow I doubt that NOW or the American Family Association would care to pass out fliers at either one's Emo's gig. Not that they would play the same night, as a sample Pimpadelic refrain would be, "While we drop the shit now ladies, drop your drawers tonight" and I-45 is more of the, "Bitch I got a bike, so don't ask for a ride" variety, with the uncannily Slim Shady-like Autobot confessing he "threw up the first time I saw a girl naked." Sonically, thugs and backpackers alike can nod their heads to I-45's synth-heavy liquid bounce -- the Rap-a-Lot-derived sine-wave hum of "2 or 3 Steps" is downright ill -- and all the Jim Beam drinkers will no doubt flock to Pimpadelic's monster-truck mix of Sabbath, Skynyrd, and Run-DMC that threatens to boot Kid Rock right out of his Lugz. (They win extra points, though probably not with the ladies, for using ODB's "Shimmy Shimmy Ya" on "Lost Cause.") And for nut-scratching Caucasians, both crews exhibit remarkably smooth flows -- way better than, say, tha Bizkit. It should be noted that Pimpadelic's constant t&a references, plus allusions to such savory subjects as gonorrhea, crystal meth, and the Trenchcoat Mafia, would probably be best appreciated by those who can't get enough of Dolemite and the Diceman's comic stylings; by the same token, I-45's Butthole Surfers tribute "Paul Leary's Wife" is obstreperous enough to roust that poor Shah from Lee Harvey's grave. Given Texas' recent past of dragging deaths, mass graves, collapsing bonfires, and rampant Governor-sanctioned executions, one can imagine a lot worse publicity for the state than one of these two groups gracing the cover of SPIN; either "Deep from the motherfuckin' South!" (I-45) or "Fuck you! I am white trash!" (Pimpadelic) would make fabulous cutlines. - Austin Chronicle Music: Review

http://www.dallasobserver.com/issues/2000-03-23/streetbeat.html



Almost every day and night of this year's South By Southwest Music Festival in Austin, Pimpadelic taunted the bands milling around Sixth Street. While everyone else was playing gigs to people perfecting their disinterested stares, trying to get anyone with a badge and a corporate credit card to listen, Pimpadelic was living it up in a shiny blue tour bus, courtesy of Tommy Boy Records. Pimpadelic, quite clearly, had made it, and had it made, as every so often, scantily clad women would exit the bus, and you could catch a glimpse of the boys in the band having a high old time on Tommy Boy's tab. The bus moved locations every so often, but it was always right there, inescapable, like one of those Jesus paintings that watches you with strangely creepy eyes.

Of course, it's no surprise that Pimpadelic's bus -- which obviously couldn't be confused with any other, emblazoned with huge inscriptions of "Pimpadelic," "Southern Devils," and "Tommy Boy Records" -- would be so omnipresent during the festival. This was, after all, Tommy Boy's coming-out party for the group, the first chance to cash in on the reportedly large investment it made in Pimpadelic. In a few months, the label will re-release the band's Southern Devils disc, and more than likely, it will be a success. And, hey, that's good news for them. But unfortunately, Pimpadelic's big blue bus, if anything, will be the one thing from the Dallas-Denton-Fort Worth area that anyone in Austin will remember. The bastards.

Not that there wasn't more than enough local talent to go around, almost all of whom would be better representatives of the local music community than Pimpadelic. Yet their presence at SXSW wasn't as obvious, as in-your-face as Pimpadelic's. The various local showcases in Austin -- the Two Ohm Hop-Last Beat Records shindig at the Ritz Lounge on Thursday night, the North Texas New Music Festival-sponsored gig at Babe's on Saturday afternoon, among others -- seemed almost as if they were open only to Denton and Dallas residents. Every club where local bands were playing was filled with familiar faces, and not just other groups that were in town anyway.

Which, if you think about it, is a good thing; there is perhaps no greater measure of support than driving three-plus hours down I-35 to see shows that happen in Deep Ellum or at Rubber Gloves on a weekly basis. Still, that more or less obscures the point of the trip for those bands, if there is one: The shows were for other eyes and ears, ostensibly those of record-label folks with blank checkbooks. Having a room full of friends and fans is good, but they can only do so much.

While it's too soon to tell whether South By Southwest was a success for all or most involved, at least one band came away with good news. Denton's Lift to Experience, after playing an unofficial gig at Pato's Tacos, came away with a tentative arrangement with the Cocteau Twins, who plan to release the band's first album, The Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads, on their own label. Word is, members of the Cocteau Twins were more than impressed with what Lift to Experience had to offer, calling their show the best they'd seen in 20 years. It's not hard to agree, as Lift to Experience built a shimmering wall of sound, helped by a whirling speaker positioned front and center that made each song feel as if it was engulfing you. If nothing else, it's about time the band found someone to release The Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads, because from what I've heard, it needs to come out now.

The Adventures of Jet were also celebrating an added bit of support when they played at Maggie Mae's East on Wednesday night to kick off the festival. During the band's swing through Los Angeles a month or so ago, the group arranged a licensing deal with My Records, a Southern California-based label run by Lagwagon's Joey Cape. In the past, Cape's label has served as sort of a stepping stone for other bands, several of whom (Nerf Herder, Summercamp) went on to secure deals with bigger, though perhaps not better, labels. At Maggie Mae's, drummer Rob Avsharian had newly pressed copies of Jet's Part 3: Coping With Insignificance, with the My logo on the back. After the band's as-always-energetic show (even though singer Hop Litzwire was hooked up to an IV the day before), you could imagine their stint on My to be a short one. You would hope, at least.

As for the rest of the locals, I can only hope someone else saw the same things I saw: Captain Audio again proving that they don't need any tricks up their sleeve to deliver the rock; Mandarin's subtly beautiful set at the Ritz; Slow Roosevelt bringing the noise at the NTNMF joint; Pinkston showing its act travels, even if the group left its cymbals in the rehearsal room; and Clumsy's welcome 'Mats fixation. And Chomsky might have been the highlight of the festival, if only to watch guitarist Glen Reynolds perform a half-hour's worth of aerobics while watching himself in the mirror at Babe's. Or maybe it was when drummer Matt Kellum, Adventure Club host Josh Venable, and I endlessly screamed Wazzup! at one another for the better part of Saturday night, to the dismay of nearly everyone around. If I forget everything else I saw and did during South By Southwest, I'll remember that at least. Once I get my hearing back. - Dallas Observer