BioRye Coalition speak in pictures; storytelling for the black-hearted, the loyal, the whore, the cuckold, the womanizer, the "sea-hag in your wet dreams," that cradle-robbing, raggedy bird that picks at the tops of heaps of trash that line New Jersey's Meadowlands.
To the complacent listener, Rye Coalition throws a stiff-arm and taunt, "You didn't come to hear our songs so go home...yeah!" Or, "Hey Mr. Rock Journalist, how about a taste of my fist? There's such an exciting twist to your cynic lap-top wit." Yes, a rap album. RC toots its own horn but also challenges any motherfucker to put or shut up, constructively that is. And due to the deafening silence of today's mediocre sea of shit, dubbed "independent rock," when begged of to put up, RC delivers the goddamn goods.
Like any true red, white, and green-blooded ginny, RC held off for three years plotting, tallying blows, harboring wounds, building revenge capital, writing songs and then unleashed just dues upon all naysayers and non-believers by doing exactly what they set out to do. That is record an album with electrical engineering genius Steve Albini, an album that blows the balls off any hard working rocker and stiffens the nipples of any true, red-blooded American female. The point is this-Rye Coalition has arrived to remedy Rock n' Roll's deafening heartache. Call them assholes. Or call them brilliant. Regardless of what you call them, Rye Coalition does what they want when they want. And that's exactly what makes them a kick-ass rock band.
So, if you're looking for a good time, fire up the IROC of the GTO, pin the treble and the bass, and drive from 16E to 14a on the Turnpike. That'll get you through the first side. Three balls to the wall rocking numbers sounding like AC/DC, Guns N' Roses, Grand Funk Railroad, Led Zeppelin, Jesus Lizard, and MULE having gay-sex in order to procreate a multi-headed bastard son on ephedrine.