High Octane Rock and Roll forged in the backwoods of Tennessee. The Fury..Heat has raised a bastard child genetically styled with a mouthful of attitude. Steeped in tradition yet snarling at convention, The FuryHeat swerve all over the road of rock and roll leaving a roadkill trail of punk, blues, and rockabilly in its wake. Lo Fi and dirty, the songs scratch their way out of the heart, tear through the current, and howl with the anger and desire of a three legged hound dog at a greyhound race. In an age where the plastic bumpers and wal mart spinners are as abundant as the plastic music it embraces, it revives my soul and sears my blood to see the prime metal grill of The FuryHeat tearing ass across the musical highway. Like an unleaded ghost it spreads all of those plastic shards across the asphalt, and without remorse disappears into it’s own blue beat. If the smell of a Plymouth Fury’s exhaust is your breath of fresh air, and the beat of bygone rock and roll mimics your heartbeat, then friends, jump in your piece of crap car, travel down your nearest deserted road, rev your engine five times and buckle up as this rock and roll ghost comes to deliver your ass salvation. Argyle Goolsby (Blitzkid)