Dig this, daddy-o—’cause The Slippery Chickens are swoopin’ into Meadow Blues, ready to blast the joint like it’s ’56 and the soda shop just blew a fuse.
These cool cats don’t just play rockabilly—they juice it up, flip it sideways, and send it cruisin’ down Route 66 with the top down. They keep that vintage grit, the upright slap, and the twang that makes your spine wiggle, then lace it with fresh vocals that snap, pop, and sizzle like bacon on a Sunday.
Frontman Jerry Scaringe? Man, he’s a whole ruckus wrapped in one sharp-dressed package—croonin’, yelpin’, thumpin’ that upright, and blowin’ through a souped-up harmonica rig he built with his own mitts. This cat’s got mojo you couldn’t buy at a black-market pawn shop.
On gee-tar, Michael Olivieri comes in swingin’ with that big semi-hollow—growlin’, purrin’, and cuttin’ through the room like a cherry-red hot rod burnin’ rubber at midnight. His tone? Daddy, it’s sweeter than a chocolate malt.
And holdin’ the whole shebang steady is Andrei Koribanics—Jersey’s own drum-thumpin’ thunder king. This hep cat has stomped stages with Popa Chubby, Jimmy Vivino, Chris O’Leary and a whole mess of legends. When he hits those skins, your bones get the memo.
It’s rockabilly. It’s blues. It’s retro. It’s rough and righteous.
It’s hand-crafted, high-octane, hip-shakin’ dynamite.
So shine your shoes and grease your hair, baby—The Slippery Chickens ain’t here to peck.
They’re here to blow the roof clean off.
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