Claws

The Demon’s Claws

Partial to some speed-freak garage trash with tin-can 60s manboy Claws
vocals?

Well, in between popping pills like sweets, The Demon’s Claws have given birth to twelve ugly ducklings, ready soaked in an oil slick of lo-fi production and Claws

with names like ‘Trip To The Clinic’ and ‘Fucked On Ketamine’
for you to adopt and cherish.

Like the best moonshine-and-buggery Americana peddlers, this band are
of course Canadian, but their tinny blues-punk clatter sounds closest
to a wide-eyed Lovvers on the jittery, 90mph jive of ‘Last Time at
the Pool’.

Skirting the perils of psychobilly, but throwing in some queasy, lolloping country, splashes of cheap keyboards are the only sonic clue to this being recorded post-1973.

So happily retrogressive it could be quaint, if it didn’t feel like waking from a drug-induced nightmare on a stranger’s couch.

Groovy and weird.

awkwardly-named-but-wonderfullyexecuted O∆ (it’s pronounced ‘Circle
Triangle’), a stunner of a debut album that will finally get a proper release in

February, nearly two years after it first caused waves through Soundcloud and old-fashioned word of mouth.

It seems apt that the spawn of a man who is yet to find a permanent residence took some time to find a home of its own.

And yet it doesn’t phase him. When I ask if he would like to have been afforded the chance to live and record in a space of his own, he takes the first of many long pauses, which are to

become a feature of our conversation, before explaining how it all fits in on
the road to the end goal.

“Whether or not it’s an advantage or a disadvantage in some ways, that’s just what I have.

Artists have to start out with whatever they have.

I had a laptop, I had Internet, I had plug-ins, I had whatever mic I could fit in my backpack, I had my cell phone,” he reasons.

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