Hollering tales of murder, betrayal, debauchery, and long, dark Saturday nights of the soul. Stripped raw, bruised, and cracking a bloody, split-lip grin, The Shambles deliver a loud, belligerent style of demonic hill-stomp blues that almost . . . but not quite . . . betrays an air of subtle sophistication lingering just around the edges. “Rough garage rock & dirty basement blues that kicks you right in the gut bucket.” Whatever you call it, The Whiskey Shambles sure enough get asses shakin and heads rockin — and that ain’t no half-steppin! This is the hard part, nephew. Whooooo well well.