BioCollectively, the four members of Parchman Farm believe in running with the night, shooting first, barfing last, digging in, getting down, staying true, staying alive, slapping fives, and always living in the deep red. They don't believe in miracles, puppetry of the penis, empty film canisters, serial numbers, the story of Christmas and dinosaurs. They believe in violent metaphors. They are adrift, focused, panic-stricken, unwashed, and slightly dazed. They are like a shark riding on top of an elephant, just stomping and chomping everything in sight.
Together, the members of Parchman Farm birth a satisfying but ugly musical child. In an era where garage music and garages in general have been contemporized to the point of being futuristic, the old school soul seems missing from today's rock and roll bands, except of course for 50 Cent, the 21st century's answer to both Screamin' Jay Hawkins and Screamin' Jackie Robinson. Parchman Farm satiates that special part inside each and every one of us. They are steeped in boiling hot water for a long period of time until the water is flavored. You don't have to, but they suggest that you believe in the power of both the right and the left hand. But wash your hands before you shake the hands of the Parchman Farm people, and wash your hands afterwards because chances are they didn't wash their hands beforehand.