Cars, motorcycles, vans, choppers, and bongs--it's easy to see where Fu Manchu find their inspiration, and it's clear this isn't cerebral rock. These boys, who hail from the synapse-frying heat of the California desert, go for the gut. They have the riffage to do it, sounding part Stooges circa Metallic K.O., part Black Sabbath, part stoned teenage garage band. Singer Scott Hill shrieks like a psychopathic Ted Nugent and his guitar emits fuzzed-out, grooved-up slabs of thunder--with lightning.
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