This is the debut album by D. James Clark and John Murray aka Big Ned, two twisted Glaswegians with a penchant for dark and twisted tales and tones. Imagine David Lynch getting stuck in a barrel of booze with a big, crooning cowboy. Tales of dark liaisons, women trouble and spiritual prowess are finely blended with an array of dark melodies, terror noises and warped guitars. This is an album with dysfunctional America coursing through its veins and oozing from every pore. This concoction of sleaze, fuzz and death is difficult to categorize. Other obvious influences include Angelo Badalamenti, Smog, Nick Cave, Elvis, Swans, Johnny Cash, Chris Isaacs' "Wicked Game," Karl Denver and The Gun Club. And most likely Satan. Thrown into this electric soup is Charles Bukowski, Repo Man, Gummo, Lost Highway, Clint Eastwood, Lux Interior, the Bible, Glasgow city barbers' window display, Casper The Friendly Ghost, and every impressive boxer who ever entered the ring. For Big Ned, this is the soundtrack to drag racing, zombies, drinking, shoplifting, dancing like a maniac, arm-wrestling, fucking, smoking and Lee Marvin putting the boot in. One hand raised in the air with a stiff middle finger, the other raised with a glass of whisky; saluting those with charm and machismo that make music a delight and who entertain. Expect mayhem, chaos and maybe even death.