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For any fan of real rock 'n' roll, it would be a goddamn shame to sleep on the raucous and inebriating revelry of Montreal's most delirious band, The Demon's Claws. These guys have been pounding out crazed rock slop since 2004, in which time they've toured endlessly and released two full-length albums and countless singles and 12-inches. Now the band has finally followed up their stunning 2007 album, Satan's Little Pet Pig, with The Defrosting Of... For legal reasons, the title has to be incomplete. We can only say that it's a reference to a very big name in the world of animation, long rumored to be cryogenically frozen. The Demon's Claws play roots-soaked music so ramshackle and loose that it sounds as if it could fall apart at any second, yet hangs together perfectly. Part Gun Club, part Back from the Grave, part lo-fi distorted crunch, part young Mick Jagger with a mouth full of pills, all delivered with a weird, backwoods creepiness. Stepping up his countrified roots on this outing, frontman Jeff Clarke displays a gift for writing incredibly catchy hillbilly stomp unrivaled today. The guy is the real deal. Self-described "liars and scumbags" and sweaty and belligerent by nature, Demon's Claws are one of the most dynamic combos to take the filthy route directly to your brain. The Defrosting Of... solidifies their earnest ambition to stomp their Americana-tinged blues-punk death trip into submission. "Their music reminds me of when I used to visit an old cabin in Northern Ontario and take mushrooms and drink tons of Labatt's and go night fishing. This is what we should've been playing instead of Sabbath." --Terminal Boredom