Organs and saxophones; death, sex and magic; New Orleans blues and serial killings… It’s Hammond Horror from Zombina and the Skeletones! Switching from screaming melodrama to gleeful jiving and back again with nary a pause for breath, it’s half Scooby Doo and half a dingy blues club with black walls, sawdust on the floor and the smoke hanging so thick in the air that you can’t quite tell whether the smile of the bloke across the dance floor has fangs in it.
And either way, never mind: Zombina’s perverse undead stomp is a call to discard such petty concerns as whether you’ll make it through the night with body and soul intact. Who cares for such trifles when the night is yet young and there are long hours still ahead before the cold light of dawn filters through the dust on the window and drives the tattered crowd homeward? Zombina want you to shake off thoughts of tomorrow and dance like a thing possessed: if you keep on shaking your hips to the swamp-bongo beat, you can surely hold the ghosts at bay…
Or, of course, you might wake up disoriented in a ditch with your memory blurred and a strange urge to sacrifice virgins. But a fulfilled life is all about taking calculated risks, right?