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The (un)dead king of rock’n’roll is crustier than you remember, but he can still wail. Cramps-y rot-abilly, anchored byTired of Hell, Unfit for Heaven, the most tear-jerking ballad sung by a corpse you’ll hear all year. Every song is about being dead, but I suppose they would be.

Came from the sky like a 747. Classic Rock’s least-reputable byline-grabber since 2003. Several decades deep into the music industry. Got fired from an early incarnation of Anal C**t after one show. 30 years later, got fired from the New York Times after one week. Likes rock and hates everything else. Still believes in Zodiac Mindwarp and the Love Reaction, against all better judgment.

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