Bio
Raw garage punk band from Lisbon, Portugal.
It was on the hottest and muggiest night of that summer best left forgotten that it all happened. A cursed night for all who took part in it. A night that marked the beginning of an ill fated enterprise whose dire consequences are still not fully known.
The Moon was not full. Running from the angry mob that chased them, a mere two steps ahead of the reach of their torches and forks, three women sought shelter in the steamy guts of the Louisiana Bayous.
The alternative, they knew, allowed them a choice But it would be between the gallows and the stake.
Marie LaVeau, voodoo queen and master in the art of head shrinking and making her enemies go mad; Lena Hurácan, Amazon priestess, capable of summoning Nature’s spirits and calling upon winds, floods and thunders with the beat of her drums; and Conchita de Aragón, runaway gipsy from a circus freak show, unable to dissemble a rogue smile when
revealing future misfortunes during palm reading sessions to the reckless fools who dared to ask, infallible spreading spells, the evil eye and sour potions.
The night has always been a bad adviser for petty minds who look only to destroy that which they cannot understand. Which they fear or do not know.
In the dark, the shadows seem to come alive. They show rotten and sharp teeth, while smiling with vile intentions. And fear gains weight by the tons.
Sensing their persecutors’ will weakening with every meter advanced into the swamp, the three women soldiered on.
Two hours later, already free from the chase, they came upon the slim figure of Reverend Jesse, while he was collecting alligator scales for a stew. Having long replaced reading the Holy Scriptures by the search for enlightenment at the bottom of a moonshine bottle, the old preacher saved judgments for Doomsday. He saw the clothes and the charms, realizing everything, the visible and the occult, but he didn’t care. He invited the three women for dinner.
After exchanging recipes and religious experiences, they found musical affinities worth exploring. To complete the sounds of the combo, they decided to resuscitate the corpse of Old Rod– a train conductor gone mad, retired with the last of the steam engines.
Seeking greener and more tolerant pastures, they moved to Portugal, giving up alligators, gumbo, mezcal and bourbon for nights of black magic, presunto, red wine and Serra cheese. With their howls and screeching sounds they aim only to find communion
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