COLD TURKEY

LipTare. One word. Two syllables. One sound that sticks in your molars. We’re not the band that plays in your mom’s minivan. We’re the one playing in the alley behind the club when the bouncer’s too drunk to care. We are garage rock with a pulse. Hard rock with a hangover. Classic riffs, modern bite. Guitar tones that go straight from Marshall stack to your bone marrow. We tune down. We plug in. We turn up till the walls sweat. Think "high energy rock show" we got it. "Underground rock band" that’s us. "Electric guitar solos" three per song. "Distorted vocals" every goddamn line. "Mosh pit anthems" our whole discography. "Festival ready rock band" we’re the ones they slot right before the headliner to blow the roof off. "Indie rock tour" we did that last year. Packed dive bars till the floor cracked. Drummer hits like he owes the snare money. Bassist growls like the dog you never let inside. Lead singer me sounds like I swallowed a chainsaw. Rhythm guitar keeps the fire steady so the solo can burn the house down. We don’t do intros. We explode. We don’t do ballads. We do slow-builds that turn into train wrecks. We don’t do covers. We do originals so good people think they’re classics. If you look up "raw rock and roll," "loud guitar music," "sweaty live performances," "headbanging rock band," or even "beer stains on your shirt rock" we wanna be there. Not because we care about clicks. Because every time we pop up, some kid somewhere hears us and finally realizes he’s allowed to be this loud.