Hot Load – Realized – New LP

Hot Load – Realized LP 

released July 2026

L.A. punk-rock outfit, one foot firmly planted in HC, the other one kicking the biker-rock throttle into action, ready to rip the ears from your skull and plow you over. They'll burn around and spit gasoline in your face and pummel your brains to pulp. (The band's name probably means different things for different folks, most I might not need to hear about, but for me reminds me of jobs I had in the 1980s, and while that most likely has got nothing to do with the outfit's handle, any of them time-clock associations would make sense for inspiration for this band: 1) circa 1983 at Viking Die Cast in Oshtemo, Michigan, and next to me working the drill press Joanie Brand with the perfect pot belly sporting a Flashdance-style half-shirt sweatshirt with the collar/sleeves/belly hem ripped off, and her pot-tender husband whips around the corner and out of the darkness with a scowl on his face and a hot load of scrap metal smoking red in the scoop of his front-end loader; 2) circa 1984, crunching work boots across the dry gravel of the parking lot at the Muskegon SD Warren paper plant with a hot load of Iridium 192 leaking radiation from the inside a 20-pound suitcase of lead; 3) circa 1985 when you had to fly by the seat of your pants to get the hot load of engine blocks from Saginaw, Michigan to Lima, Ohio before the morning shift punched in; 4) circa sometime, and you got the wet burrito from Juanita's roach coach...let's Wang Chung tonite. To live and die in L.A. ).  Anyway, if you can squeeze dirty water from an oily rag and turn it into Boones Farm, that's almost like a miracle in my book, take junk like that and make something like this. This smells ugly and sounds great. This smells like spilled blood, sweaty leather, warm whiskey and hot asphalt. If you think the polluted skies of L.A. have done nothing to make the world a better place, think again. If you are in need of some waffle stomps in your skull and tire treads across your face, this is your ticket. Take a number and take a seat, the butcher is busy right now wiping blood from his cleaver, and he'll be with you in a minute. -- winch