The Brimstones


Cobbled together from instruments fished out of the garbage and influenced by records nobody would ever fess up to diggin’ in good conscience, the Brimstones came together in 98’ to fill a grave left empty w/ the absence of real, intense, balls out rock & roll (not to be confused w/ the pap that passes for the real deal these days).

Clubs were closing, the scene was deader than a 6pcs bucket of extra crispy, CB’s had installed an art gallery (!?!?). There seemed little hope than subsequent generations of NJ suburbanites and NY scumbags would ever see the sight of splintered guitars, fuck a piece of strange in a bathroom stall, nor slip around in a puddle of blood that wasn’t there own.
Yet through some strange hitherto unknown Alchemy of Vacuum Tubes, Transistors, pointy shoes and, more often than not, Thunderbird Wine, the ‘Stones’, as they came to be called (Not to be confused w/ those other guys) , managed to pack houses, basements, bars and the occasional Taco joint with the most eclectic group of low lives (A term of endearment); whipping themselves into a violent frenzy akin to a spiritual trance and inviting everyone to take part in their saturnalia-like orgy of destruction and self-gratification.

With absolutely no support form the underground music establishment (too busy hiring stylists to give a hang about the music itself) nor a kind word from area journalists preoccupied with tacking their byline on self-aggrandizing bullshit, the Brimstones still managed to hammer their message squarely between the eyes of any who cared to listen, and indeed managed to hang on and even increase their grip where as others passed into obscurity and, more often than not, day jobs.

Yet instead of just riding the coat tales of local acts of manufactured rebellion and pretentious art house shtick, the Brimstones made it a point to give the kind of show that not only made the audience fear for their safety, but *gasp* actually dance (In full view of their friends, no less). Bones were broken, mic stands took flight, hips were dislocated; in short, the stars aligned, and for a time, teenagers walked the walk instead of just getting a cool haircut, an ironic tee-shirt and missing the point completely.

But what is the point? In a word, Rock and Roll is not a genre. It is not a fad or a faze. It is not a style that can be co-opted, nor does it suffer the weak. Rock and roll is a religion, born out of primitive desire and hedonistic indulgence. It has no message, no lofty aspirations. What it does do is get you broken teeth, free drinks and occasionally laid with impunity, and that, my friends, is where the Brimstones come in…

The Brimstone have held their own onstage alongside some of the greatest acts Rock & Roll has to offer including the Cramps, Damned, Slits, Ventures, Seeds, ? & the Mysterions, Link Wray, Dick Dale and the Remains just to rattle of a handful. Often imitated, never duplicated (occasionally questioned by local authorities) the Brimstones are an American band, a Jersey band, and barring a change in the statute of limitations, a Rock & Roll band, free to play whatever the fuck they want, whenever they want and to whoever is willing to listen. Consider this your heads up. Wear a helmet.

Prepare yourself for the all new release from Go Ape Records: three rug-cutters from New Jersey's favorite hellions, the Brimstones! In the grand tradition of records that don't suck, the Brimstones new 45 lifts and separates like a bullet bra for your soul. This is a very limited release, so get it while it's white hot. It's more fun than a barrel of drunken monkeys and only costs your sanity.


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