Few and far between are the times you stumble across one of those rarefied acts that really grabs you by the shirt and reminds you of what live music is supposed to be all about. It's the electrified feeling of being plugged in. There's a sense of being enveloped in the energy, the pulse and the smell no recording can capture. Such as it is with Royal Son of a Guns. The Chicago three piece overdose of atmosphere leaves you feeling like you just walked into some forgotten Tarantino movie. The sound is raw and dirty with a depraved surrealism like you'd imagine a Johnny Cash and Alice Cooper collaboration to sound like. The set up is stark with Presley-esque vocals, raggedy guitar, bass and an amped up electric washboard that has a boom and crack to it that puts your run of the mill trap kit drummers to shame. Much as I liked Royal Son of a Guns disc, "That Racket", I have to say it's the bare knuckle grit of the live performance of these songs that got under my skin. That's as it should be. Something's wrong if you can't communicate better face to face than you can on wax.