Eyeball in My Martini

This is the sound of a midnight tiki bar where the drinks are spiked with something hallucinogenic. Eyeball in My Martini captures The Cramps in their early 90s stride, maintaining the sleaze of their 70s roots while embracing a slightly punchier, more muscular production style. It is a masterclass in psychobilly aesthetics: Poison Ivy’s guitar work is a masterstroke of tremolo and grit, providing a surf-rock foundation that feels both nostalgic and threatening. Lux Interior remains the ultimate master of ceremonies, delivering lines with a mix of Elvis-inspired crooning and feral, unhinged yelps that suggest he is having far too much fun. Owning this record is about embracing the bad taste as high art. It is for the listener who finds beauty in the grain of a 16mm grindhouse film and the crackle of a cheap tube amp. The title track itself is a perfect encapsulation of their ethos: sophisticated enough to mention a martini, but depraved enough to put an eyeball in it. It is danceable, dangerous, and deeply committed to its own campy mythology. If you need music that feels like a leather jacket smells, this is the essential 45 for your collection. It does not just play; it sneers.

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