CD reviews, Dec. 10
ESP: Extra Sexual Perception
People Like You
If it sounds like the amps are buzzing much quieter in the rock universe these days it's probably because the thunder express has made its last stop and The Hellacopters and Adam West both got off and walked away into rock n' roll immortality. Oh, what? You didn't know that Adam West called it quits too? Well, they have, Jack, and even though they may not have the same mainstream cache as The 'Copters, believe me when I tell you that as a 16-year institution of American super powered surf n' garage rawk they were just as important as their Swedish friends and their decision to pack it in is no less significant. So, these DC fuzz mongers, who seamlessly sutured the sounds of the MC5 and The Misfits as if it was their born duty, turn on the afterburners one last time and leave us with ESP (and a slew of splits and singles, natch), a heavy, hot rod testament to bad fun and careless carousing. It's no surprise that Adam West have remained true until the very end, playing the part of ass-grabbin' heroes in a rock n' roll B-movie world filled with bikini babes and motorcycle ghouls to perfection.
Ok, everyone is all excited because the skies over Canada's prairies were lit up last month by a screaming ball of fantastic green fire that barreled its way toward earth as if on a cosmic mission of doom. Now I know all these planetary scientists and professors of astronomy believe that the sonic blast was a meteor, but they still haven't been able to locate the crash site and find any pieces of the galactic object. I can explain that. You see, here's the thing...that whole deal there in the sky was kind of my fault because I played the new Dozer record. I realize it's been a hassle for everyone involved, but c'mon, you gotta admit it was totally awesome, right?
JJ Got Live RaTX
Another spackling of weird beard rock action from RTX, fronted by ultimate rock fox Jennifer Herrema, that' too cool for its own good and will make total sense to you if you like to spend your time in a neon-lit motel room sucking back cheap wine and prescription drug cocktails with a working girl who's wearing nothing but a fur coat and bruises. That is to say this album is quite sleazy and desperate and far gone and full of enough squealing and dealing to make your pants tight and your brain turn to tar. Let your freak flag fly, fuckers.