Who is/are/was/will be Terry Malts? A yellow-pages private dick has gleaned the following: Corey Cunningham (guitar, backing vox), by way of Dickson, TN-cum-cardboard-box-in-Toronto, was asked to housesit in Fresno, CA. Duties fulfilled, he shot north on a graffiti trip to 924 Gilman St. and immediately bonded with fellow men’s room “artists” Phil Benson (bass guitar, lead vox) and the unfortunately-named Nathan Sweatt (drums, backing vox).
Hands shook, vibes exchanged; the trio felt compelled to distill their energy into a unified voice. Terry’s gospel is succinct, direct, sincere, and timed expertly with next year’s looming apocalypse: life is hopeless, enjoy!
With a live reputation that bleeds funky “Punk” attitude, I’ve been told this urgency has been crammed into the TM studio edition. Recorded by a machine, then expertly mixed by human being Monte Vallier (Weekend, Young Prisms), this music may compel you to type the following buzzwords into your blog (which, I LOVE, by the way!): catchy, husky, hunky, sharp, blue-collar, rocking, hockey-rock, working-class, perfect, near-perfect, not-half-bad, and/or not-bad.