Holy Smokes starts with the punchline. Disorients you, then brings you back home. It’s the kind of record that’s coming and going. You don’t know if it’s gonna slap you on the back or across the face. A gut-punch, a haymaker, three piece and a biscuit.
Sucich sings about death and love, and by the end of the record you won’t know which is which. It’s all the same to him, living is just editing, you change your looks, your mind, your friends, your faith, try to get in shape for the afterlife. The songs are a confident strut, nothing chickenhearted about them. Sucich is Hannibal crossing the Alps, telling you tough truths through treacherous terrain. Cut straight to the heart, straight to the point. He’s showing you all his cards, and he’s holding a dead man’s hand. These are songs that see the future and the past with equal clarity. The only unknown is the present. We’re all just getting by, doing what we can, honoring a handshake agreement with something somewhere we can’t quite trust. Sucich is skeptical of everyone – God, country, you, me, and himself. Everyone’s full of shit, no one is beyond reproach, and even the things made with the purest of intentions are out to get you. America the beautiful, she’ll break your heart. Life’s one big joke, and all you can do is laugh. Well, that and keep breathing. – Mike DiCenzo