Song, by Toad

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The Rosy Crucifixion

rosys The best way to find new music, as I have said before, is not to listen to idiots like me, it is to find other bands you like and to listen to them.

I am currently booking a month full of Scottish music to take place at Henry’s Cellar Bar in August, while the eyes of every American tourist in Edinburgh will be on the gurning pusses of Home Counties pricks trying to amuse their friends who they shared a flat with at drama school. The utterly incredible Retreat Festival isn’t happening this year, and Tennents have given up on T on the Fringe and The Edge Festival, so I think that Edinburgh really does need at least some representation during the Festival.

Anyhow, I followed Palms to this compilation album, bought it, and discovered Muscles of Joy and The Rosy Crucifixion by doing so. And what fucking awesome bands they are. The Rosy Crucifixion describe themselves in their Soundcloud tags as “morbid hillbilly garage” and that might just be one of my favourite genre delineations of all time. They have songs called Sunshine Fuck Off, and for all I have never heard anyone even talk about them, their reputation in Glasgow appears to be what people refer to as ‘burgeoning’.

Their songs are fucking ace, too. Sleazy, wonky, out of tune and out of time, they drip with swagger, confidence and confrontation. The music is old-fashioned, jangly and hummable as hell. Lo-fi can become lo-fi for its own sake, but this lot sound pretty well-recorded to me. The growl comes from the amps and the playing – it is deliberate and courted. The band have a split release with The Wharves coming out on the excellent Soft Power Records soon, and I am really looking forward to hearing it.

3 witty ripostes to The Rosy Crucifixion

  1. avatar

    Nicely haunted by Syd Barrett’s ghost

  2. avatar

    You’re promoting a nightly event during August in Edinburgh?

    Brave, brave man.

  3. avatar

    Yeah, Ant, don’t laugh. I am confident though.

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