Dear all,

I’m booking some dates for SPEEDBALL BABY in Belgium in partnership with
Paperclip Agency.
Some open dates in late August and early September 2012. 1st September is
not available.

SPEEDBALL BABY come at you all tumble-grind and twang-beat like thunder in
a blizzard. Fusing the primordial slurp of rockabilly with a
broken-homegrown hybrid of gospel testimony and punk mayhem, the group
cuts a swath through the rotting cane fields of the contemporary music
scene. Live, they harness hysteria – pounding out a thrown drink
conniption fit as exuberant as a St. Vitas dance. Their shows have earned
them the loyalty of music lovers and emergency room ghouls on both coasts
and between. The notoriously fickle crowds in their home parish of NYC
have stuck to SPEEDBALL BABY like feathers on a tarred heretic.

SPEEDBALL BABY were conceived at singer Ron Ward,s wedding reception.
Among the assembled guests treated to an impromptu mauling of standards by
the well lubricated groom was Madder Rose bass player Matt Verta-Ray. The
virus of inspiration – to bring the then Blood Oranges drummer and Wobbly
Organist Ward up to the front seat to drive and return Verta-Ray to the
guitar chair – became as irresistible as the punch. It even made sense the
next day.SPEEDBALL BABY have outlasted the marriage.

SPEEDBALL BABY were perfected with the addition of former Kelly Township
mouthpiece Ali Smith onbass and UK transplant Martin Owens on drums. They
have festered together in the most fertile music hothouse of all: the New
York City apartment. Far from Israel Zingwell’s « Melting Pot » New York has
functioned more as a microwave for SPEEDBALL BABY – annealing them as
individuals and broiling them, inedibly hot on the inside, as a band.
SPEEDBALL BABY have a sound. Martin works the traps like a cocktail forge,
loading syncopated coal like the port town native he is. He,s a Liverpool
sophisticate gleefully hurling drum primers into the fire. Ali curls
around the beat with blunt grace, by measures a gamin then a pit boss.
Together, they’re more a twin barrel riot gun than a rhythm section,
laying down a field of rubber bullets piled so high you need snowshoes to
get through. Matt skewers cliché, wrestling fractured jabs of twang and
slur from a singed encyclopedia of guitar dont’s. « If you’ve ever had sex
with a Catholic, » he says, « then you’ll know that those with the strongest
sense of guilt enjoy crossing the line the most. » Ron flails, feints, and
careens with the teethmarks of Burroghs biting Beefheart. He works the
crowd like Lawrence Ferlinghetti hosting a game show or a midwife’s
blood-spattered husband. His antic destructive pageant has blanched
unsuspecting soundmen and cold-cocked (quite literally on occasion)
unsuspecting audiences.

SPEEDBALL BABY know the gray virtues of the music. Not the commodity sound
of lite beer and Cambridge academics, but the dark blues of the messed up
and clueless. A « feeling » yes, but one those truly torn know how to give
not just get. Yeah in another place not so long ago a man broke down while
he watched a sixteen coach train take his baby away. But this is New York
and the J train’s left for Brooklyn with your keys, your prescription, and
a couple of your teeth. Lord have mercy.

I hope to hear from you asap.



Some Noise asbl
C/O Alain Bolle
1050 Brussels 5


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