The Foxx

GUEST TESTIMONIAL BY LEGENDARY ERIK:
Willkommen, kinder of the unterwelt, to the site with the bite, the ground floor of the growl and purr, the locus of hocus-pocus.
Shocked that the best glam-rock/honky-tonk/music-hall/power-pop/boogie-woogie/hockey-puck (see "Rondelles," Frenchie)/monster-arena-rock musical amalgam the world (that's me) has ever heard arose here in the desert like a desert rose?
Feral Foxxes launch furtive nocturnal raids on the chicken farm, hoss.



She might begin a set demurely, glancing up from the Nord Electro to punctuate a piquant phrase or polished chorus line, but warming to the task, her body language will expand until, stroking strings or slamming keys with graceful abandon, she kicks the air, kids her bandmates and kills the crowd with consummate kindness. And in this tumult you do feel ripe for the killing, for the coup de grace, blithely awaiting the merciful quietus of razor tooth and rapier claw untilit's over, and you stand whole; unharmed.
The Foxx make music that runs to the blood and hurtles to the heart, so I must believe that it is infectious. I've seen the evidence in the galvanized limbs of the newly exposed. So why don't I hear it throbbing and ringing from free clinics across the land, and overwhelming state-run hospitals elsewhere in the world? A riddle for the initiates, thou newly contracted carriers at large. Oh, little vectors! Take up this sacred germ, this precious pox; this Foxx! from these four corners and across fair seas, to philistines and pharisees.
Mein kinder, until I see you, and The Foxx (an animal best captured alive) in the fur and flesh again!