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London band Neon Animal envision a world where we’re all young and skinny forever and Marc Bolan’s hair is still a mass of glammy curls and Guns N’ Roses are still eating hot dogs in a storage space and everybody wears pink fur coats and dreams about lost weekends with Brian Eno and Ziggy Stardust and the only way to hear the true voice of God is to listen to the Top 20 countdown on the radio. Will we get there? No. Does this album sound like we could? Yes it fucking does, man.

This is sleazy, slinky 70s glitter and 80s glam scrubbed clean with digital zap and flash, and while it’s not exactly reinventing any wheels, it does make ‘em spin and hum majestically. Every song features a big gooey chorus and rampant guitar heroism, but the pick to click for sheer audacity is the brilliantly titled opener ISOFTWAREmark” gingersoftwareuiphraseguid=“e44e8f00-f881-4322-a5ac-e95a37d59fcc” id=“f0caec6b-3f8d-4860-94cd-b4bb476deddb”>’m Killing Myself & Everyone Is Helping Me.

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.