Born out of a weary swamp afterbirth, in the form of a tar baby brier rabbit stick to your bones windblown devil child, the reason can only be questioned.

This angry spirit voice emerged in the summer of 1995, made of bones and strings, and the desire to conquer. To conquer the stillborn art fag heavy metal abortion that held the city of lost angels hostage.

Enter the Countdowns, a teen dream sex machine on a mission to kick a hole in the head of this shit called love. Bred on a diet of soul food, lust, and alcohol. A band with a hell raisin' desire to create lo-fi adrenochrome laced rock-n-roll.

They are men on a mission. A mission from god...? Perhaps not. But a mission to return the head of rock-n-roll to its rightful place. To its mantle of honor.

So, my brothers and sisters, to make the story complete, do me a favor and grab your god forsaken ass, a bottle of whiskey, and a handful of desire and drag it to the nearest COUNTDOWNS show and put your miserable life back in perspective. Integrity, Soul, and Action.