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HookerClops / Press

“We’re not too sure what’s going on with this Hookerclops band, to be honest. Their bio tells the tragic tale of a woman mutated in a freak chemical accident, changed from a lovely young lady into a cyclops/crab/squid monster now forced to turn tricks at the docks with a very niche, very open-minded clientele. Until reading that, though, we thought the name referred to the “clop clop clop” sound that high heels make when walking down Boston’s cobblestone walkways, specifically high heels worn by a prostitute. Either way, we guess there are two things going on: someone is getting paid for sex, and the band is rocking out with all their might. We’ve seen them live a couple times before, and someone slipped us a copy of their latest CD at the Rumble; it’s a straightforward rock ‘n’ roll that can’t be denied.”

“We’ll admit we’re just a bit afraid of thrashing hard rock quartet Hookerclops. Maybe it’s their propensity for aggressive beards and even more aggressive power chords. Or their somewhat absurd, Primus-sounding track titles (“Robot Glasses,” “Fucked Up Cat” and “Ubba Dubba”). Or perhaps, just perhaps, it’s their back-story, which involves mutation, the Exxon Valdez oil spill and the sharing of a single (spiritual?) eye among the four band members. Could be any or all of those. Doesn’t matter, as long as you know they’re playing Church tonight. And that it’s definitely the eye thing. *shudder*”

“Listening to Hookerclops makes me wanna snort a bunch of Adderall, shotgun a couple beers, and roam the moonlit city streets raising all kinds of hell. If you haven’t guessed already, subtlety is not one of this band’s strong suits. Writing rowdy punk songs, however, and pumping them full of ball-busting blues-rock riffs is. You gotta love their proto-punk primitivism, testosterone-fueled guitar, tag-team, rock ’em sock ’em drumming, and low-down skulking bass-lines, not to mention the absurdist sense of humor of the lyrics and their guttural vocal delivery. I mean c’mon, a one-eyed prostitute with lobster claws for hands? You can’t make this stuff up. Oh wait, yes you can. Their music speaks to the caveman in me that wants only to fight, feed, and, well, ya know—fornicate. No ego or super-ego to be heard on this album. It’s nothin’ but id on overdrive.”

“This is a live track, and it is brimming with an anxious form of energy, like the cymbals are about to fly off their hardware and wound someone. The band’s ability to ride this edge, like an overdriven motorcycle that is always about to explode or wipe out but never, ever does is what brings “King Kong” home to whatever weird island that a mutant dinosaur or monkey would call home.”

“It's like a bull fight on acid.”

Chris Anderson - Brighton House of Pizza