Car engines are roaring in the distance like uncivilized lions. A grey sky casts over the open road, everything dead and lifeless. The windows are down and the wind rushes by, making a howling sound to impress the lonesome wanders. My left hand sticks out of window, straight as the barrel of the shotgun nestled safely in the backseat. I feel bugs splattering against my hand, the guts leaving a gooey layer on the inside of my palm. The dusty road sends particles up in the air, creating a grimy haze of desolation. The sound of boorish lions grows louder as a little wooden shack approaches on the right side of the road. Outside in the parking lot, trucks are calm, bikes are impatient, and everything lifeless from this desolated strip of nothing comes back from the dead. Engine turned off and my muddy shoes start walking towards the shack with the sound of hell bursting through the windows in the form of the dirtiest southern rock you’ve ever heard.
StoneRider emerged from the ashes of Fight Paris, a band that was fast paced and sounded like a cheap imitation of everything else. Ã¢â‚¬Å“Three Legs of TroubleÃ¢â‚¬ is the debut album from a southern rock band that will paint more vivid images in your head than Da Vinci’s illustrated notebook. Ten songs filled with pure southern rock, with more authenticity than that Versace purse you bought your girlfriend on the streets of New York City.
The record will transfix you, transform you into an alter ego that rides around in muscle car and goes to shady looking shacks in the middle of no where. If you gave up drinking years ago because you were a ruthless alcoholic, well this record will bring back hallucinations of your better days. You’ll feel a rushing sensation in your veins for that cold beer, that bottle gripped between your fingers as you stumble between every busty girl in the bar. If you’ve never broken a law because you were taught to whole-heartedly respect law enforcement, well this record is going to make you shoot out the windows of your annoying coworker with the shotgun you just illegal bought in a back alley.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Three Legs of TroubleÃ¢â‚¬ is filled with catchy guitar riffs and vocals that are memorizing your vocal chords to chug down a beer and sing along. The lyrics aren’t going to change your life, but they will make you forget about all those unnecessary problems you stress about constantly, whining away to anyone that is willing to listen.
The record is finishing up, the last track is almost over and my nose is bleeding from the punch some coward sent over. A brunette with a wedding ring is on my left side, rubbing my back while she takes shots of vodka from the bar. A blond with enough cleavage to excite the trousers of every middle schooler in a five-mile radius has her hand in my back pocket. They step inside of my car, laughing and mumbling to each other as I pull the shotgun out of the backseat. An overweight woman with a mullet is drinking beer on the outside of the shack, leaning against the wall. I snatch the beer out of her manly hands, guzzle it down, and feel the cold brew running down my throat. I load two shells into the shotgun and smash open the doors of the bar, looking for the son of a bitch that made me bleed my own blood.
1. Rush Hour, Baby
2. Back From The Dead
3. Ramble Down
4. Juice Man
5. Wild Child
6. Bad Lovin’ Never Felt So Good
7. Hair Of The Dog
8. Bite My Tongue
10. Shut My Mouth