Bitch Kitty Racing

The Brothers Bitch Kitty grew up during a simpler time, long ago, when troglodytic butt-rockers and hairy-knuckled jocks would cruise around in mud-encrusted Camaros looking for someone to pound, someone with blue hair, maybe that girl from fifth period, they didn’t care. They’d blast the same rock and roll that’d been blasted around the world for thirty years and yell:

“New wave FAGGOT!”

right before they leapt out of the car with baseball bats. What kept the brothers going was a love of music, John with his post-punk Chicago bands tearing it up and Keith with his dreamy English art noise. They traded records, shared sounds, went to all the coolest shows and, most importantly, survived adolescence.

Keith and John still love music. The Digital Age has made it easier than ever to discover and share new artists through internet radio and on-demand subscription services. Mp3’s zing around the globe at the speed of light, flawlessly recorded music can be crafted on a laptop in a tent in Nepal, and the latest thing is created thirty times a day.

It’s so cool!

Music is incredible right now, finally breaking out of the sonic prison that is the music industry. For years we only heard what they thought would sell; we only heard what had sold well before. It wasn’t about making music; it was about making money. So today we would like to tell all the purveyors of stadium rock and Barbie pop to go submit themselves before a dog for something incredibly degrading and quite probably sexual. We, the music lovers of the world, don’t have to listen to your schlock any longer. Many of our favorite bands don’t even have labels. Yes, that’s right, the internet has blown your prison all to hell! We, the blue-haired new wave faggots of the world, have won. Go pound yourselves.