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Slick Fifty Seven | Ghost of Bonnie Parker | review | punk | rock | Lollipop

Slick Fifty Seven

The Ghost of Bonnie Parker (Laughing Outlaw)
by Scott Hefflon

Dallas, Texas-based Slick Fifty Seven blend Hank Williams style with Green Day pronunciation into a frantic cowpunk binge that'll drain your wallet, test your liver, and you'll wake up sticky next to someone whose name you can't remember. "Honky-tonk" and "roots-based" are terms lobbed about with abandon, as are beer cans, so musical appreciation and knowing when to duck are equally important.

Like the soundtrack to a Smoky & The Bandit movie (pose ironically if you want, hipster, you'll be the first they drag out back and kick the shit out of, maybe worse, depending on how much rot gut is in the system and how lonely the cowboy is... Why do you think they call 'em cowpokes?), drinkin', womanizin', and general barroom mayhem is in order. Good ol' boys, good ol'-time music, and "timeless themes" like heartache, getting fired, and having to pay bills are present, but mostly The Ghost of Bonnie Parker is a celebration of the other aspects of life, like drinkin' with good friends, eyeing the twirlin' young things on the dance floor, and blowing donuts on your ex-bosses front yard.

Slick Fifty Seven aren't hicks, they aren't hipsters, they're bona fide country punks, like Supersuckers and their peers. They know their way around a stand-up bass as intimately as your slutty ex-girlfriend's bedroom, and while they'll play for beer and whisky, uh, you might be better off paying them the money, cuz that tab's gonna be a doosie.

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