Amish Armada
People are running out of gimmicks. The whole underage-sex-kitten thing is played out. Ditto the ambiguous man-dressed-as-a-woman and woman-dressed-as-a-man things. Wearing masks, painting faces, worshipping Satan. Tossing raw meat and live chickens into the audience. Self-mutilation. Biting heads off bats. Throwing feces. Ho-hum. Ah, but there aren’t nearly enough people fucking with the Pennsylvania Dutch. Enter the Amish Armada. In the grand tradition of Kingpin, this group of Wisconsinites with way too much time and liquor on their hands has appropriated the identity of a simple, God-fearing, hardworking people and become a sacridelicious troupe of hard-rocking, hard-drinking misfits with beards and suspenders. The Armada sails on a choppy sea of punkish hard rock mixed with ridiculous juvenile delinquency. The music isn’t exactly something to write home about, but it’s really beside the point when you’re singing songs such as “Hooray for Rakes and Spades,” “Amish Jailbreak” and “I Wanna Kill You and Rip Out Your Guts.” Oh, yeah — in addition to being “Amish,” some of the guys are also zombies, and at least one likes wearing blackface. And when they aren’t plowing through fields or audiences, the band sells Amish Armada decoder pins that don’t decode anything and offers bartending tips for drinks like the “Farmer’s Daughter,” an unholy concoction of whiskey and ranch dressing. Jedediah never had it so good.
