I CAN LICK ANY SONOFABITCH IN THE HOUSE: Put Here To Bleed

I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch in the House

Put Here To Bleed

© 2003 In Music We Trust, Inc. (678277053823)

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Political-minded rock 'n' roll with a country appeal, I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In the House taking on George W. Bush, the government, gun-toting NRA president Charlton Heston, and rock star Courtney Taylor (of the Dandy Warhols).

tracks

1 Twerp
2 Dear Mr. Heston
3 American Fuck Machine
4 La
5 In the Mud
6 Hayward, CA '76
7 Gone As They Go
8 Things That Fail
9 The Ballad of Courtney Taylor
10 To Be Good
11 Sixsixfive

notes

Taking the bull by the horn, I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In the House's sophomore full-length, "Put Here To Bleed", pulls no punches when discussing the current state of affairs in the U.S. Speaking out against George W. Bush ("Twerp", "American Fuck Machine"), gun-totin' NRA President Charlton Heston ("Dear Mr. Heston"), and the American government at large ("Things That Fail"). "Put Here To Bleed" is a political live wire, the much-needed protest record for those that want to speak out against Bush's war.

With a name like I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In the House, the band puts it all on the line - and they deliver. When front man Mike Damron sings, he lets it all out. In "Dear Mr. Heston" Damron relives the tragedy of his youngest brother accidentally getting shot by another brother in the kitchen of their Las Vegas home. "Josh said I know where mama keeps the gun/ she won't even know that it's gone/ I took my class and I got my license/ now my little brother will never know the love of a girl/ and he'll never drink a cold one/ and he'll never see another sunrise/ and he'll never damn sure, damn sure fire that gun," Damron sings with chilling conviction.

The song soon erupts back into the chorus: "Dear Mr. Heston, if you ever saw a 12-year-old boy's brain splattered on a kitchen wall, well you'd hang your head in shame, you rifle totin' whore. Cold-blooded, old-blooded, sick-ass man".

Then in "Things That Fail" Damron's anti-war sentiments strike a chord, making you weep as he speaks for us all: "Dubya Dubya three is a man on a mission, he's got a war to sell, these are things that fail".

The Dandy Warhols' Courtney Taylor soon gets his ego put in check on "The Ballad of Courtney Taylor": "All you pretty women, best do what I say. If I see one green M&M, there is gonna be hell to pay. What's that shit, salami? On my deli try! I'm gonna leak it to the Willamette Week that I'm bi-sexual or gay, 'cause I'm a rockstar," snarls Damron, mocking the holier-than-thou attitude possessed by Taylor and other like-minded rock stars.

"Put Here To Bleed" is an intense, ass-kicking ride through I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In the House's punk-minded, alt-country, gritty rock 'n' roll vision.

Key Selling Points:

-Constantly touring throughout 2003
-Politically-minded, controversial record that should - and will - strike a chord with like-minded groups and individuals.
-In-store play copies available

Label Contact:
Alex Steininger @ In Music We Trust
15213 SE Bevington Avenue / Portland, Oregon 97267
V: 503-557-9661 / F: 503-650-8365
alex@inmusicwetrust.com / www.inmusicwetrust.com

reviews

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  • author: CD Baby

    If Americana or Roots rock ruled the world, this band would be the authority. Appropriately named, "I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch in the House," while being one of the longer entries in the Webster dictionary, can conveniently be found between to the words "ache" and "nasty." With the "I'm not taking no crap from anyone" vibe, dressed in tattered cowboy boots and with a box of cigs within reach at all times, this band won't leave you wanting for aural stimulus. They have got the balls of all out hard rock and punk, the twangy gun-tootin' grit of Country and the spankin' delivery of the blues. Any way you see it, this album is one to covet.

  • author: Stein Haukland (Ink 19)

    Mike D.'s I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House may have the best band name in modern rock, but that wouldn't mean much if they didn't have the music to back it up. But they do. This is ferocious alt-blues standing proud and tall, coming across like a more elaborate, less hipster-oriented White Stripes playing AC/DC songs. I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House serve their hard rocking cowpunk with passion and wits, all the while fiercely avoiding stupid masculine posturing. The fact that celeb gunslinger Charlton Heston is referred to as a ''cold-blooded, old-blooded, sick ass man" and a "rifle totin' whore" is more than enough to endear the band to me. But more important is the music. "Twerp" offers some of the best cowpunk this side of the Hangmen (whose long overdue sophomore studio album is due early next year), "Hayward, CA '76" ends with a shimmering, aggressively sludgy jam and "American Fuck Machine" totes some amazing hard rock riffage. Both snob-hipster rockers and trailer park misogynists are given one solid middle finger by a band delightfully avoiding musical and ethical compromise. Put Here To Bleed could prove to be one of this year's finest albums, and I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House to be one of the most self-respecting, entertaining and smartest bands out there today, seemingly unable to do anything wrong.

  • author: Nada Mucho

    Put Here to Bleed - indicates I Can Lick Any SOB is one of only two country-tinged rock bands out there that matter (the other being The Drive-By Truckers, of course).

  • author: J C

    I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House • Put Here To Bleed • In Music We Trust Records • From the get go this disc jams out. Heavy on that classic blues and rock sound with scruffy vocals and a harmonica addition that balances the rawness with ease. This album is fierce and crisp all the way through and is an excellent attempt at taking rock back to the forefront of popular music. Lyrics lean towards the tragic in "Dear Mr. Heston" about vocalist Mike D's brother shooting his other brother and then the government on "The Ballad Of Courtney Taylor" and "American Fuck Machine" which are about the corruption and inequality from those in power. The tight sound wound between these guys fit in with late night drinking bashes. "Gone As They Go," "Sixsixfive" and "La" all show off lyrical diversity and take certain risks not taken by many groups out there right now. (JC)

  • My hole life just fell apart and this band is the only thing that is holding me
    author: Hillary

    Laying in my bed, driving in my car ICLASOB blairing my my ear your words give me faith and stop some of the tears.

  • author: Michael Toland

    Portland's roots rock thugs in I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch in the House put one of last year's most unexpected pleasures out last year with the debut album Creepy Little Noises, and now they're back with Put Here to Bleed. Head SOB Mike D. (who did time with that notorious combo the 101st Airborne before his stint as a rock & roll miscreant) unleashes another strong set of songs from his working class psyche, full of spit and bile - indeed, he's even angrier than before. "Dear Mr. Heston" takes the NRA head to task with righteous fury ("If you ever saw a 12-year-old boy's brains splattered on a kitchen wall/Well you'd hang your head in shame") and little subtlety ("You rifle totin' whore"); other targets of his disgust include popular alternative rockers ("The Ballad of Courtney Taylor," a less-than-flattering look at the Dandy Warhols bandleader), blind patriotism ("American Fuck Machine"), an apparently personal vendetta ("Twerp") and, well, pretty much everything about the American system ("Things That Fail"). He also finds the wherewithal to roll his characters around in the mire of self-loathing in "Hayward, CA '76," "Sixsixfive" and "La," all of which are unnervingly affecting despite a complete lack of sentimentality. "Gone As They Go" and "To Be Good," while hardly uplifting, interject a surprising tenderness into the broiling anger, just enough the keep D. from seeming like a sourpuss. The band backs up his plainspoken treatises with tough, no-nonsense rock & roll that maximizes his rootsy melodies while slathering them with enough gravel to ruin an undercarriage. Speaking of gravel, D. seems to prefer it to mouthwash; his shredded throat gives each line an authenticity that prettier singers would kill for. This is one songwriter who sings what he means and means what he sings, and this is a band as long on honesty as it is on talent. Put Here to Bleed was put here to wail.

  • author: Aaron Archer

    Breaking open a fecal pinata stuffed with a multitude of odorous musical genres of today may unleash many styles that appeal to many people. But whatever the flavor, it's really only a different hue of the same shit. So much music today is contrived and thought up by vacuous A&R reps for the express purpose of dazzling the consumer with eye candy in order to shift units and swell balance sheets. The fatal flaw is always in the music itself, which becomes an afterthought that survives only in its current climate with no reverence for the music of the past and no room for expansion into the future. So what makes Put Here to Bleed refreshing is the grafting of rustic folk and blues flavors onto a core of punkish angst that manages to elude becoming mired in cliches. Leadoff track "Twerp" starts quietly, kicking into a raw blues romp with wailing harp, dominating drums and frontman Mike D's scratchy howling. "Dear Mr. Heston" is as angry as you might guess from the title, with a quick two-step beat and accusatory lyrics railing against gun nuts and, funny enough, reminds me of John Mellencamp. The flair for politically charged lyrical commentary is a thread that runs through Bleed, providing a lineage back to the likes of Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan. The abrasive "American Fuck Machine" revolves around a gutbucket roadhouse riff, staccato vocal breaks and machine-gun drumming to deliver its spite for the ideal Republican America, complete with perfect tits, religious predominance and blind patriotism. Scathingly character-assailing, though very simple, is "The Ballad of Courtney Taylor," which takes aim at the dramatic frontman for fellow Portland natives the Dandy Warhols. With Put Here to Bleed, I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch in the House has honed a sound that contrasts with most everything out there. A heady mix of punk, blues, folk and sharp witticisms, the songs deliver a strong punch for a band on its way up. --Aaron Archer

  • author: musicemissions

    Mike Damron's bluesy/country outfit is back for another fight. I Can Like Any Sonofabitch In The House is like a ballroom brawl that never ends. It seems like only a couple of months ago that I was reviewing their debut, Creepy Little Noises. Now with their sophomore album out on In Music We Trust again, Damron has honed this style of raucous rock to his own art-form. Mike states that his influences range from Steve Earle to Lynyrd Skynyrd to Thin Lizzy. This all adds up to an energetic set of music and that's what Sonofabitch delivers on his new album. He takes a political approach on some of the songs like "Dear Mr. Heston", an anti-gun song. It really is Mike's voice that makes his band stand out from others. His vocals are twangier than Merle Haggard's and rougher than Joe Cocker's. At times, Sonofabitch is totally rocking like Jackyl and other times Mike has his foot totally in the country sound. It's a refreshing album that isn't all that unique but there is so much heart in Damron's music that it more than makes up for it.

  • author: Baby Sue.com

    I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch in the House - Put Here to Bleed (CD, In Music We Trust, Rock) Sounding something like a Southern refried sloppy combination dinner containing slices of Alice Cooper, The Replacements, and The Pogues...this band is a barroom lover's delight. The band is led by singer Mike D., a man who can out-rasp even the raspiest of singers. His drunken sing/growl is the main focal point of this band's music...although the songs themselves are impressively strong. Though the band is based on Portland...they sound more like a band from Georgia or Alabama. The band's no-frills rock music is stripped down, honest, and goes down easy. This album took a couple of spins to sink in. These guys don't sound anything like other bands on the In Music We Trust label (!). Good downhome rockin' music. Top picks: "Twerp," "American F*ck Machine," "Things That Fall," "Sixsixfive." (Rating: 4+++)

  • Yes!
    author: Shaggy

    I haven't heard music like this since 1978. The Clash meets Aerosmith at Stiv Bator's house! Next time Natalie Maines wants to mouth off, she should just do a cover of one of these songs. It would mean a lot more.

  • Since the advanced copy of this album didn't have a title on it, I dubbed it Songs to Witness the End of the World To (SWEWT). It is chalk-full of existential southern harsh brutality. Lead preacher, Mike Damron has too much drawl to actually be from Portland, but who do you know that is actually from here anyway? SWEWT is get under your fingernails but you don't much care much 'cause you're gonna get dirty anyway kind of music. After one listen, it's clear Mike has a credo: Live free while you still can. Every song is a foot-stompin' excercise in the reality that life is a series of beginnings and endings. In the gospel according to Damron he doesn't claim to know what comes next and moreover he simply doesn't care, he just likes them in between parts. On the track, "In the Mud" he tell's us: "heaven ain't up there in them blue skies above/it's down here, 'neath my feet, 'tween my toes, in the mud." Fuck, yeah! And in "Twerp" he commits his last few precious moments to "spend(ing) the apocalypse drunk and passed out on the floor." What else would you expect from a guy that names his band I Can Lick Any Son Of A Bitch In The House? The sentimental ballad, "Gone as they Go," seems a bit misplaced in the revelations laden SWEWT but forgiveness, I hear, is divine. I guess he can't lick everyone in the house. But there is enough licking going on on this disc to last you through Judgment Day and the fiery pits in Hades that I'm sure awaits everyone that listens to it. Which is perfectly fine with this listener because S.O.B. will undoubtedly be the house band in whichever club the devil will be partying in. I just hope Mike D. has the heart to put me on the guest list. -SH

  • author: Adrien Begrand

    Thursday, May 1, 2003 Been getting into a band called I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch in the House as of late. Their new stuff is very good...sort of like a cross between the swamp rock of Drive-By Truckers and the pissed-off liberal spewing of Steve Earle. Their new album's called Put Here to Bleed, and it's one of the angriest condemnations of Republican America to come out in the past year or two. This band does not mince words...when you dedicate a song called "American F**k Machine" to George Bush, you're pretty much abandoning any hope of lyrical subtlety. There's also a very funny song called "The Ballad of Courtney Taylor" ,where the Dandy Warhol himself gets torn apart: "Hey you Mr. A & R would you buy my lunch for me/I'm gonna cake on some makeup then i'll pass for 23/All you pretty women, best do what I say/If I see one green m&m there's gonna be hell to pay/What's that shit some salami on my deli tray?/I'm gonna leak it to the willamette week that i'm bisexual or gay/Cause i'm a rockstar." The real keeper is the tune "Dear Mr. Heston" (download the song here), a blunt attack on the NRA. You'd think it's just another left-wing anti-gun rant, but it turns out the singer's little brother was killed by another brother who was horsing around with a parent's gun at home, and when you listen to the song, it becomes a powerful indictment of American gun culture: Josh said I know where mama keeps the gun/She won't even know that it's gone/I took a class and I got my license Now my little brother will never know the love of a girl And he'll never drink a cold one And he'll never see another sunrise And he'll never damn sure damn sure fire that gun/Dear Mr. Heston If you ever saw a 12 year old boys brains splattered on a kitchen wall Well you'd hang your head in shame You rifle totin'whore Cold blooded old blooded sick ass man One of the better songs I've heard this year...

  • author: Jason Heller

    Nineteenth-century colonialists spoke patronizingly of the Noble Savage. Today we have the Enlightened Redneck: Mike Damron, singer/ guitarist of the Oregon quintet I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch in the House. Scrapping the sad-sack sensitivity of the Gram Parsons/Townes Van Zandt school of country-rock, Damron and his boys rip out a bluesier, ballsier brand of wistful jangle and rustic twang. But don't let the alt country tag send you packing: Put Here to Bleed leaks buckets of smarts, distortion and pure punk soul. In the album's anti-gun hootenanny "Dear Mr. Heston," the morally senile NRA president is informed: "If you ever saw a twelve-year-old boy's brains/Splattered on a kitchen wall/Well you'd hang your head in shame/You rifle totin' whore/Cold-blooded, old-blooded, sick-ass man." The burly, bearded Damron comes across like Michael Moore fronting Lynyrd Skynyrd. And not unlike Moore, Damron is no ivory-tower liberal; he speaks of firsthand pain in first-person terms, a thinking man trapped in a body -- not to mention a whole culture -- of testosterone-pumped machismo. With plainspoken grace and a Texas drawl, he tenderly growls his way through lines like "I hate everything/Kings and being poor/Guns and burnin' crosses and evils knockin' at my door" and "I hope we're angels/Not just put on earth to bleed, not just a cancer/Not just disease, not just anger." The music is tucked somewhere between Steve Earle and the Afghan Whigs, peppered with stubbly riffs and bleak, black heartbreak. In fact, "Things That Fail" steals the distinct drumbeat from the intro of the Whigs' anthem "Gentlemen," and the disc's opening cut "Twerp" could have been a hidden track at the end of Earle's Transcendental Blues. Other songs, like "American Fuck Machine" and "Sixsixfive," are meaty slabs of outrage and open-chord bashing, while "To be Good" is the album's mournful, gut-chilling ballad. Most alt-country today is made by hipster dilettantes and fake-hick opportunists, but I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch in the House sticks out like a rusty nail, pricking egos and deflating pretension. And, in Damron, the whole genre has acquired a new songwriter of conscience, intelligence and brusque -- even savage -- honesty

  • author: N8

    To make it short and sweet... This is one rawkin' disc that doesn't seem to want to come out of my stereo! Goes down smoooth and hits you hard like fine backwoods moonshine.

  • author: Corey DuBrowa

    Southern rock: A phrase that brings to mind the bourbon-soaked specter of Lynyrd Skynyrd, the mutton-chop mayhem of the Kentucky Headhunters, even the hayseed parodies of latter-day inheritors like the Drive-by Truckers and Southern Culture on the Skids. Historically, it's been a "love-it-or-leave-it" genre, inspiring intense loyalty and furiously righteous criticism in equal measure. Out of the kudzu and into the fray leaps Mike Damron, frontman and spiritual leader of Portland band I Can Lick Any S.O.B. in the House. (The unwieldy moniker is drawn from the title of heavyweight boxer John L. Sullivan's biography). On the sophomore CD release, "Put Here to Bleed," Damron and company explore little musical terrain that wasn't already visited in the debut. But much like Skynyrd before them, this band knows what their people are thirsting for and serve it up time and again in ragged, redneck-and-blue glory. That said, it would be a mistake to simply label these guys Stars-and-Bars-flag-waving bumpkins. Sure, the album brims with the sort of chord changes and buzz-saw anthems only a Southern-fried fanatic could love -- "Twerp" and "Things That Fail" being the two examples printable in a family newspaper. But it's also marked by songcraft that mirrors John Cougar Mellencamp's prairie populism at its most compelling. "Dear Mr. Heston" is the tale of a man who, having lost his 12-year-old brother to a self-inflicted gunshot wound, angrily rails at the NRA president in futile grief, while "Gone as They Go" is the ballad of a guy whose wife and kids have left him, but with a twist: He's chillingly decided that if he can't have them, neither can anyone else, and writes her parents to tell of their fate. The irony kicks in full-throttle on "The Ballad of Courtney Taylor," a needle-sharp attack on rock's inherent ridiculousness as seen through the prism of the Dandy Warhols' outrageous frontman. The goods are delivered in Damron's rasping twang, a character he never departs that blends "Let It Bleed"-era Mick Jagger with AC/DC's Bon Scott and Skynyrd's Ronnie Van Zant in an unholy trinity of reverence and cynicism. Southern sonic origins aside, "Put Here to Bleed" may well be one of the most anti-Bush administration statements heard this year, which alone makes it worth hearing during a year marked by armed conflict, political wrangling and grassroots protest.

  • author: Tabletnewspaper.com

    tabletnewspaper.com, 04/03 The raspy, gritty vocal style of Mike Damron is comparable to that of Eric Bachmann (Crooked Fingers, Archers Of Loaf), sans the heavy Neil Diamond inclinations. His Portland outfit, I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House, is unapolegetic, unpolished alt-country at it's finest. Damron's intelligent lyrical diatribes are the featured attraction and he doesn't disappoint. Keep an ear out for "Dear Mr. Heston" a number directed at the president of the NRA which even includes a reference to his "Bright Eyes" character in the timeless classic, Planet Of The Apes.

  • author: Tamara Turner, CD Baby

    If Americana or Roots rock ruled the world, this band would be the authority. Appropriately named, "I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch in the House," while being one of the longer entries in the Webster dictionary, can conveniently be found between to the words "ache" and "nasty." With the "I'm not taking no crap from anyone" vibe, dressed in tattered cowboy boots and with a box of cigs within reach at all times, this band won't leave you wanting for aural stimulus. They have got the balls of all out hard rock and punk, the twangy gun-tootin' grit of Country and the spankin' delivery of the blues. Any way you see it, this album is one to covet.

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