step on my sexy parts

Five women. Two bass guitars. Two synths. One guitar. And the Dirty Box. Tits of Death was borne out of not much more than the simple desire to jump around and act out the deepest, darkest, most Spinal Tap- esque of rock fantasies. It was never meant to go beyond the confines of the keyboardist's lounge, yet merely months and a few gigs into their lifespan, Tits of Death's shouty full-on fuzz assault - variously described by revellers as Peaches and Add N To (X) bulldozed by the Cramps or...