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As their original singer was carried away by wolves, the three
remaining ladies of Little Volcano were saved from imminent wolf-death
by a bombastic lady rapper searching for her dark voice. It then only seemed natural that the harridan front Little Volcano. Little Volcano now rises from the grave as a fortet of witchy women playing
loud rock and roll for the Portland masses. It would be
misleading to describe Little Volcano as simply “blues rock” or
“lady-powered rock and roll” etc: this music rouses an ache for the
shadowy loomings beyond the horizon. The gritty lyrics and driving,
Stranglers-esque bass stir a grim wanderlust. After a show you’ll
find yourself pausing before coffin warehouses and humming along with
the grey machinery of dissolution and secrets. Little Volcano will
bring you dangerously close to those inexorable sadnesses —time,
resignation, ennui—but it’s the near misses that prevent the bitter
lapse into everyday life. The only cure for where you have been and
where you’re going is to see these ladies, on stage, dragging behind
them scraps of the dirty nowhere towns they are from.