It's been said that Volume One is possibly the best rock release to come out of Philadelphia ever. While low on recording budget, attitude and pretension, Birds of Maya is high on stolen riffs and an energetic execution seldom seen outside of a Sunday ruling by Seamus McCaffery. Whether they are mangling riffs or stepping way out for fried boogie solos Birds of Maya oozes a dark chunky sludge with elements from all the colors of the classic rock rainbow. Do they really sound like "a GG Allin demo played through a megaphone?" It's a fair description and it's certainly colorful, but it leaves out an awful lot. They are loud and they are chaotic, but they have way more groove than GG Allin could have ever imagined.
Birds of Maya did what countless garage rock geeks try and fail at: dust off 1968 and bring it back to life without making it look like museum piece. Bringing on the best of 60s power trios like Hendrix and Cream, a whiff of Blue Cheer's bongwater, Black Sabbath's bass heavy paranoia, and Stooges bum-out, they were sloppy in all the right places. The jamming never got tired and held everyone's raptattention.
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