J.D. Wilkes writes Southern gothic tales drenched in cinematic blood and guts. The head Shaker's songs are populated with maniacal holy-roller preachers with retribution on their minds, murderous grannies slathered in grease, cow carcasses rotting in trees long post-flood, hillbilly lynch mobs, and a deacon obsessed with naked pig thighs. Wilkes's South ain't exactly Mayberry, unless Aunt Bea's come lurching back as a zombie. On the one hand, Wilkes taps every Southern inbred cliché in the book. On the other, he celebrates them as hoot-filled cultural talismans, while he and the rest of the Shakers steam through a feral mash of primal rockabilly, wild-eyed gospel, bluegrass, Appalachian folk, swampy blues, and punk. The Shakers' new Swampblood (Yep Roc) is the riotous finale of a twisted hillbilly trilogy, and prime fodder for what should be live pandelirium. Pack the corncob pipes and practice them rebel yells, y'all. With Hot Rod Hearse. 18+.
Fri., Sept. 14, 7 p.m.