These days "Punk Rockers" belong to the addled throngs who honestly believe that the Top Forty stylings of "My Chemical Romance", and "Panic at the Disco" are cutting edge decadence.
Profanity, misogyny and self destruction have been replaced with empathy, gender confusion and corporate sponsorships for gawky dip-shits unworthy of the title, whatsoever.
There was a time when you couldn't swing a dead cat without knocking over a pile of garbage or a punk rocker, aching to be recognized as either art or artist.
Today, garbage is just garbage, and Punk Rock is a tossed salad of ambiguously oriented metros whose sole purpose in life is creating the perfect soundtrack for a tampon commercial.
Fortunately, for us, "Today " has been replaced by "Now". And, "Now" is when The Trauma Dolls share their featured spews on everything that is and shall be. Despite the hypnosis, psychosis and ultimate cirrhosis, these guys run the show.
With Todd Owens on vocals, Billy England and Scott Fleegle on guitars, Mike Rustad on bass and drummer Bill Mendoza, the band creates a mayhem that borders on chaos. Playing and touring since early their formation, it’s easy to see by the reaction of crowd that their following never fails them.
The Trauma Dolls corrupt everything you know to be pure.
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