
Just listen to the Carniwhores, who clawed and scratched their way out from underneath a rock somewhere in Johannesburg. Listening to the to this band makes me want to sweat my clothes off, drain a bottle of whisky, smash it on the floor and make sweet love to some beautiful boy in the broken glass. And I don’t even LIKE whisky. What I’m saying is this: if you love it, you’ll live it…and these sweaty man beasts are living it large. The old gods might be dropping like flies, but at least they can go out knowing that there’s someone fit to carry the torch. Find a Carniwhores gig and open your soul to the devil’s music. If you don’t come away from the set singing praises to the powers that be for sending this sound to the streets of Jozi to save us then you have no business anywhere near music of any kind. Thank you and goodnight.