tsar kicked down the door of rock and roll and said stick em up motherfuckers we have the place surrounded saturday night at ten thirty in a club called spaceland in silverlake east of hollywood california planet earth. dual guitar attack was in effect, rolling blackouts of bass from the right, coulter creaming the drums from behind and twenty thousand screaming fans who, im sorry, did not show up and sell out spaceland for the austrailian headliners, jet, they came to see and hear the soundtrack of an execution, the death to disco, the end of a revolution of absurdity, all this other bullshit is bullshit and everyone knows it so save your phony baloney and you need to either bend over or duck cuz tsar has arrived and if youre not with it youre against it and you best not be against it.

tonypierce.com + sunday + saturday
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dont ask me what songs were played. none of that matters. what went down was a street fight. it was straightforward and hard and sweaty and quick. buisness took place. an order was written down, put in a spinny thing and soon someone slapped a bell and there was a plate of steaming hot eggs for your ass, dumbass, not mine. they were preaching to the choir. i knew the words. i knew the breaks. even the new songs were old to me. old friends with toupees. old hangouts with fancy facades. old dog pulling new tricks. tsar has no business existing in a time where this music can stagnate in a vaccum. they have no peers. you cant stop them, all you can do is get off your ass and go down to the show and experience the majesty your majesty. and only in hell a could tsar rock and get ignored by their local paper. but thankfully, not their local hotties who represented and cheered and floated home and told all their friends. and their friends said well we saw the matrix and the hotties said what.