Sometimes you just realise that everything you’ve listened to up until that moment is absolute shit. It might last a second, it might last forever. The important thing is that you understand the following: whatever you’ve devoted your ears to for a lifetime can’t hold a candle to the sounds reverberating around your skull in that precise instant.
In case you haven’t guessed already (jeez, I gotta spell everything out for you?!?), The Cowboys are the sort of band who’ll inspire that exact feeling.
Ok, ‘inspire’ isn’t the right word. More like they’ll slap you about the ears with their punk’n’roll mess, whether channelling Jello Biafra fronting Thee Mighty Caesars (or Billy Childish fronting the Dead Kennedys? Ehhh, one of the two. Or both) or a half-cut Glen Campbell setting fire to his copy of Meat Puppets II while it’s spinning on the turntable. The surfy pop of The Barracudas, left too long on a radiator and melting all over the carpet. Devo chilling out, maxing and relaxing all cool before bursting into the sort of sound that feels like having hairs pulled out of your nostrils with rusty tweezers. They’ll bash you furiously about the head with pillows and gently tickle the nape of your neck with ragged blades.
Know what I’m talking about? No? Oh, just listen to the damn record and let ‘em electrify you. Trust me, it’ll all make sense.