“This is not a book in the ordinary sense of the word. No, this is a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty… what you will.”
-Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer
Cunts is an iteration of disgust, a statement of contempt. In an age when degrees of absurdity are the only accurate unit of measure, Cunts stand defiantly in the face of a declining civilization and thumb their collective nose. They have no use for lofty ideology or half-cocked idealism. They do not seek your approval any more than they need your permission; that is to say, not at all.
Comprised of Los Angeles scene vets Michael Crain (Festival Of Dead Deer/Retox/Dead Cross), Sterling Riley (Hepa.Titus/Orphan Goggles), Keith Hendrikson (Virginia Reed/Kill The Capulets), Kevin Avery (Retox/Planet B) and Matt Cronk (Qui), Cunts is a band that requires no explanation. Since appearing on the LA underground scene in early 2018, Cunts have earned a reputation for their blistering and intense (and often violent) live shows. Equal parts catharsis and blood-letting, Cunts as a live entity is an unapologetic display of rage and sex, of belligerence and contempt, of body and soul.
Cunts’ self-titled debut will see release on Ipecac Recordings in the Fall of 2019. Contained therein are 13 tracks of face-ripping violence; no slogans, no manifestos, no appeals to the heart. The album stands as both score and tribute to society’s imminent, self-inflicted collapse. Cunts are not here to uplift you, save you, or hold your hand. Cunts are not beholden to the group-think mentality of anyone or anything. Cunts do not care what you think.