Alex Gomez: Home

Alex Gomez’ fuzzy electric slide guitar/whiskey vocal onslaught assaults the senses like a jagged tin can being scraped with a rusty switchblade. Blasphemously challenging the staid Delta/Chicago Blues status quo, it infuriates purists, while fascinating initiates. Having survived hosting a national Blues TV series and a couple dysfunctional record deals, it’s not like he doesn’t know any better as much as Alex Gomez just couldn’t care less. It’s like, remember that guy in school who listened to Gun Club and knew Scarface chapter, line and verse? Well, Alex Gomez hasn’t changed a bit, still putting us all to shame not giving a flying fuck. Like a man who’s sold his soul, Alex Gomez testifies at a crossroads teeming with jaded strippers, avaricious call girls, strung out junkies and other fallen angels. A purgatory where careless love, casual sex and substance abuse collide. So, if you like Keb Mo' and Eric Clapton, you will totally hate Alex Gomez. But, if you dig Bob Log III and Jon Spencer, artists who critics compare Alex Gomez to, then welcome to a roller coaster ride deep inside the low rent section of that hell hole called the Punk Blues.