Blackballed, Saboteurs, The Autumn Saints

A scorching desert crossroad, vultures circling high above three heat shimmering ratrods, windows down in the haze.

Winding around the sound of roaring engines, hard hitting rock riffs and filthy blues grooves, wrapped in a gauze of pyschedelic soulfullness.

A squeal of acceleration breaks free from a blast of streaking colour and scorching tyres, exploding into one huge melting pot of highly tuned, well oiled musical mastery.

That my friend is the sound of Blackballed....