"Dark! Seductive! Disturbing!"
It could be printed in bold across a old exploitation poster from the 50's. It could also be used to describe the overall mood that this record puts across.
On tracks such as the ballads like the treated and looped piano laded "God Only Knows", which on a recent radio show of mine I declared "the darkest make out song in quite awhile" (when hearing it one might wonder if it's written for an imaginary David Lynch movie where it plays during a seduction scene and then again while someone lies bleeding and dying) and the 50's weeper (down to the falsettos) gone goth "True Blue", it's as if Leonard Cohen gave up wine for tall glasses of codeine cough syrup then sent Martin Rev a telegram stating that he had some demons he needs to free.
The Suicide references (the band not the act-though there is a very dark and depressive place nature looming like an entire year of dark clouds all over the album) don't just stop there as it even exists on the more "upbeat" songs.
The echoey metallic clang of "Speedway King" is like the story of Frankie Teardrop if he was a hot rod racer if he had had a preference for the OVH 390 cu in Cadillac engine and the plot line of the story was left a bit more open ended. That same clang makes a lot of showings in "A Hundred Highway", which sounds like something between a gravedigger humming Little Peggy March's "I Will Follow Him"on a rainy night at work and a track that didn't make it to the Godz (the New York freak band of the 60's-not the Ohio hard rock band of the 70's) 2nd album for being just too minimal.
"Horses" has a beat that sounds like it was created by the undead soul of the world's gloomiest rockabilly drummer collaborating with Lux Interior and John Cale for the title track of an unreleased Russ Meyers horror flick and if there's such a thing as surfer goths they prowl the coldest and lonely spots for tasty waves and confused girls in their hearse converted into a woody while listening to "Sweet 17".
Round it out with two atmospheric "noise" tracks and watch pyschobilly dudes leave the room pissed, make them admit that they do that they still have their Nitzer Ebb and Nine Inch Nails cassettes (and listen to them when no one is looking) or realize that most of that psychobilly stuff they listen to isn't really psycho at all and is in reality just cartoon cock rock.