If this is the return of a glam-trash band that trod the toilet circuit 20 years ago, they must’ve been cryogenically frozen when they split. Still pouting on the sleeve in their top hats and kohl like nothing happened after the 70s except Hanoi Rocks, they uncork a suitably defiant romp, boosted by Clash-style harmonies, Slyder’s skid-mark guitar salvos, Marc Valentine’s animated yelp, and his preoccupation with death in the lyrics.
Glammed-up outlaw punk has been done so many times that it has to kick down the front door rather than sneak in like a turd through the letter box, but the band’s experience hotwires Oblivion Kids, Glitterball Apocalypse and Dope School, while You Don’t Work shines as a blast of Dolls-style attitude.
