Wasted Pido

A Jack Kerouac book, a song by Motörhead, an aphorism by Nietzsche, some taoistic precepts… variations of the same are an old reassuring, recurrent human habbit… repetition is a necessary process, an essential need… Breathing, eating, fucking, drinking, shiting are repetitive and vital. Wasted Pido’s music is repetitive. Rock n roll is vital. It’s not about reinventing the wheel. It’s about driving fast. The engine needs to roar. Tyres have to screech. The James fuckin‘ Dean way of life. Wasted Pido plays for the fast living ones and wakes up the dead. Ghosts of rock n roll can’t stop stomping. Headbanging vampires float around the stage. Sensualy belly dancing ghouls join the party. Music might be the only posssible communication, the only intelligible langage between the dead and the living. From psychobilly to blues, from dirty rock n roll to trashy country, Wasted Pido revisits tracks where many free thinkers and beer lovers walked before him. His ardent, vivid one man band realeases the dead he meets on his road from their silent eternity. His relentless, passionate one man band remind the living that it’s fun to be freaks !
Trashman without a cause / Phantom Ivy’s poison / Tao girls with machine ghosts

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