Album Notes

Hmmmmm, what can I tell you about us...
that women writhe in front of the stage like true believers stripping in sweat to the vortex of sexy funk, or I can tell you our vibey approach to music making is paying homage to the deity of song without inhibition, or that folks can't pronounce didjeridoo, or that people point at the lead singer and say, "she turns into a devil on stage", or I can shut the hell up and let you read the impressions of others...

Soma Mestizo is one of those eclectic groups that don't reside in any given category. If one had to attach a label, perhaps the tag intellectual, political, emotional and sensual poetry over top of slinky beats, accented by auxiliary percussion, wrapped in the tonal blanket of the digeridoo-would come close.
Byron Nash -Rock n Roll Reporter

Soma Mestizo is very fast and catchy. They were very much in synch with each other musically and energize-wise, with good rhythm and beats. Props go out to "Beneath the Blossoms," a song with beats, loops of orange juice pouring into a cup and a girl faking orgasms loudly…and repeatedly. Very sexy sound and feel to this band. The didgeridoo vibrated the place throughout their set. I felt like koala bears would soon be coming after me out of vengence! Very dark, danceable beats, which made the audience anxious, as if they were surrounded by poinsonous rattle snakes.
Jenny Yuen - NXNE

Somewhere along the way, Soma Mestizo found the line between the technological and the organic – and then danced across it.
Scott Mervis -Pittsburgh Post Gazette Weekend Mag

Christiane D's lyrics tell unconventional stories in traditionally prose or poetic ways more extreme than the folk ballads of Johnny Cash or Bob Dylan. Leach's stories are like movies, with scenes set and emotions conveyed through the eyes of the characters, rather than recounting the exploits of "Frankie and Johnny." At times, these songs can push the envelope of music, such as on "Next Victim," a disturbing, percussion-laden track on Peepshow that stretches the border between song and prose.
Justin Hopper - City Paper