On the most quintessentially first Friday of Autumn, it felt like old times amongst the basement scenesters of Columbia Heights. Grab a beer, fire up a recently dubbed contraband clove cigarette and dig the sounds of Death on Two Wheels, an Atlanta troupe that seems to have been blasted forth from a southern gothic novel set in the near mythic, qualude and LSD saturated ramshackle, road house honky-tonks of a late seventies Georgia. Channeling a decidedly: “we wanna be free to ride our machines and get loaded” gravel spraying code, these dudes rock out with a take no prisoners, storm your town, call the state militia, adamantine heaviness. The front man Trae Vedder’s (no relation) full throated vocals strike a mean between a rebel yell and a Cherokee death knell, during which time a coordinated onslaught of sooty, gritty, play the hell outta the blues Dwayne, guitar rears its head like the Grim Reaper his self ridin’ across a stark landscape, mowing down unrepentant denizens.
