Soon the country ménage a trios reformed beneath the dimming stage lights. Britt's voice is an angelic ease between Chamber's 'hillbilly daddy' drawl and Rogers'… well, Tim Rogers-ness, which reared its head several times during the set, with Rogers recounting the time he was forced to share a single bed with a mortified looking Chambers (“I kept him up all night 'cause someone had given me these pills and they turned out to be Ritalin”). With only one song to their name – They Call Us The Hillbilly Killers – the group went on to share those other secret song wares they've been working on; a tribute to coal mine workers, a nod to those in the world who are “beautifully fucked up” and a delightful fuck you to love with the hot-dog-toe-tapping-hand-clapping-head-nodding gem, Love Sucks And I Hate It.
Chambers and Britt embraced and enchanted the crowd – bouncing off one another through harmonies and honky-tonk guitar work. Rogers, on the other hand, clad in a velvet suit with cowboy hat (yee haw!) stayed solo on stage right, playing to the band's backing duo, seemingly off in his own world.
With a CD on the way and more shows lined up, The Hillbilly Killers might be a band in its infancy, but with such a healthy pedigree, the group have only a few quirks to sort out (like, you know, a support act) before becoming a country music staple. Just give them some time. And keep Rogers off the Ritalin.