My God, The Heat / Press

“If you're gonna poke at someone, it's much more effective to interject, spit your jabs, and pull away with a swiftness that'll leave them throwing up their hands yelling "What the fuck, man?" But point your venom at a city, a trend, or an entire philosophy and you're gonna need to be pretty fucking clever and pretty fucking correct. Enter Rockford's My God, The Heat. Pancake Johnson's vocals would appear too tarred-and-weathered to spin such sharp tapestries of vitriol, but somehow the band's punk-a-billy free-association is perfectly executed in his rasp. On their fourteen-track debut, Beautiful Men in an Ugly Town, My God, The Heat roll out a red carpet to piss on all things over-inflated and over-indulgent. Beautiful Men in an Ugly Town stomps and stutters with more essence and less oi! When singalongs are led this well, a doomed revolution usually follows. Threads of joyous bluster spun through the band's live set is exactly what you'll find. How many bands can boast that?”