Shots is a night album. It is the sound of Ladyhawk getting loose-turning up loud, downing a few more and howling at the moon.

Ladyhawk are in vampire pose, filling their days waiting, only coming out after dark to stalk the streets ready for blood, then stumbling home drunk before dawn.

Or like ghosts, drifting through the halls of the darkened house thinking about how they used to live there.

Or sometimes ending up outside, staring into the cold moon for what seems like hours and seeing nothing-going back inside and seeing only a mask in the bathroom mirror.

This is Ladyhawk's death trip, lining up a round of shots on the edge of the grave. Ladyhawk's kiss-of-death evokes the devilish sounds of Goats Head Soup guitars, the honey-slides and howling of Neil Young in his darkest hours, and the phantoms that haunted Roky Erickson at the Holiday Inn.

Recorded over a period of two weeks in an abandoned farm house behind the shopping mall in the band's childhood hometown of Kelowna, British Columbia, Shots is an album filled with the cold creaking and ghostly echoes of the old house in the dead of winter.

Like a party for the last house standing in a sea of strip malls and condos, surely near the end of its time.