The look, the attitude, even the sound do not say “powerpop,” but Angelenos Tex & the Horseheads were recommended to me by one of the purest poppers I’ve ever known. (We’ll call him “James,” as that is his name.) I for one will be eternally grateful. Trouser Press’sss description probably won’t attract you either. I quote in part:
One of the wilder exponents of cow-punk, Tex and the Horseheads are spiritual kin to the Gun Club. And while they lean towards a very punky image (lead singer Texacala Jones dresses like a female Stiv Bator; on the first album, the bassist's name is Smog Vomit and the drummer is Rock Vodka), their playing is fairly coherent.
Faint praise if I've ever heard it. Tough tacos, I don't care, I love 'em. Rest assured that their debut album is available, used, at Amazon. . .for $99.99. That’s the only place I found their music for sale. You can frolic with them, if you dare, at their MySpace site. One-week post.
Tex & the Horseheads - Oh Mother