"Sounds like Rusty Wallace on a protein diet! "

"Univision's answer to the Jesus Lizard!"

"Quite possibly the only band that makes its own gravy. Just add water!"

Take five musicians with well-rounded backgrounds and lock 'em up tight in a small room with inadequate ventilation. Slide various taco bell products under the door for nourishment, and give just one ultimatum: DO NOT COME OUT UNTIL NEW MUSIC IS MADE.

What the ::insert curse word here:: would happen?

It all started out after three pitchers of dempsey's one night at Gabe's Oasis int the fall of 1998. The next day, a quartet of open-minded musicians met to experiment, improvise, flatuate and lubricate. They played in odd meters. They implied latin and african rhythms. Be-bop trumpet rubbed vigourously against phased guitar, octopus drumming and ostrich-like bass. "Let's make it a band" said the drummer, still reeking from a week's worth of missed showers.

Riffs developed into grooves which developed into songs. A few were played before a crowd of collegiate jazz-types. Some applauded loudly, others looked on in boredom. Overall, an atmosphere of encouragement prevailed, and the quartet lumbered on. They were not heard from again for three months.

New sounds were added into the fray, including farfisa, analog synth and sampled electronic noises. Most importantly, an unsuspecting female vocalist joined the quartet. Then, on one cold night in December, PLOODOH played it's first gig.

Two hundred people crowded a ice cream parlor with a make-shift stage. At the stroke of 10:24:48 CST, the first blast of "gallowed" was sounded. Immediately, nuns began looting. Wrestlers stripped themselves of singlets and sobbed pathetically. Various domesticated animals mounted one another indiscriminantly. Survivors responded enthusiastically: