Delta Bats

Toby Fuhrmann and Don Canone have been in the business long enough to know that they will not reinvent rock'n'roll. They were born too late for that. But at least they were born in time to save it. Regardless of the consequences.  

After years as a well-oiled rhythm section in various bands, the two brothers in spirit, the Delta Bats, have made their debut as a duo and have reduced themselves to what they do best. No-holds-barred low blows of drum and bass, mangy vocals and riffs that don't even try to sound virtuosic. "Only when the last neck is overstretched do we stop playing," they declare in unison, looking back beery at their first gig together, which turned into an emergency for the chiropractor. They're having fun, but are bitterly serious.

While Don has drifted straight from an East German double bass forge into metal, Toby has beaten his way up from a boys' choir via American marching bands to a drummer whose punch would make a Texan blacksmith pale in comparison. The two unmistakably pay homage to their gods - Motörhead, ZZ Top, Ramones, Judas Priest - but without losing sight of the danceability of a Samantha Fox. Wherever the Bats appear, it's a party. People sweat and drink Coors light from cans. Shells fall from bodies that would have been better left covered. But that doesn't mean shit. Two friends for one hallelujah.

Here come the Bats.