The Suicide Kings reviewed
The Suicide Kings
The Suicide Kings
(Blue Plate)
If one thing is made abundantly clear by the cover art of The Suicide Kings’ self-titled album, it’s not for kids.
You might suppose as much by the cigarette dangling from the young cowboy’s mouth. But no, the perversity lies within whatever has pasted the dumfounded look on his face he’s looking at, a combination of the horror and stupefication brought on by life’s struggles. The Suicide Kings (not the unheralded ’80s slum rockers) are all about things easily summed up in song titles (“Hooker’s Lament,” “Cradle To The Grave,” “Bottle And A Gun”), though, for our benefit, frontman Bruce Connole isn’t afraid to expound a word or four on each subject. The band’s pre/post/non-Nashville shuffle has an attitude all its own: ornery, but too depressed to put up a fight. As for that poor hayseed on the cover, hell will continue to grow hotter and that expression will become ingrained.
— Steve Forstneger
