La Chinga: Freewheelin’
Vancouver’s finest boogie-rock band since BTO double-down on the cheap ’n’ sleazy thrills of their party-starting 2013 debut with this mighty roar of an album. While they sound exactly nothing like Monster Magnet, this still feels like a Magnet opus; a reckless, feckless celebration of hardcore rock’n’roll stretched out into impossible cartoon shapes and delivered with supreme confidence.
Songs like White Witchy Black Magic and Stoned Grease White Lightnin’ speak for themselves. But just so you don’t think they’re a bunch of artless savages, the boys toss in a Four Horsemen-esque pseudo-ballad called Mountain Mama – which may feature a mandolin, so brace yourself – and a 10-minute stoner-prog closer perfect for wandering into a forest in an antihistamine haze. But otherwise it’s all uppercuts, all jagged edges and midnight kicks, Funkadelic wah-wah and arena-rock sprawl, all ball sweat and cheap denim and the siren’s call of ‘76 for ever and ever. Also, if you don’t get it on purple wax you’ll probably never get laid again. (8⁄10)
Lightmares: Lizard
Canadian in origin but positively Australian in delivery, these slithery all-night rockers are sorta like the Beasts Of Bourbon knocking out Hanoi Rocks’ teeth. Everything about Lightmares’ Lizard is completely over-the-top in the best way possible. If you like your harmonica solos dripping with blood, then this is your band. (7⁄10)
Lumpy And The Dumpers: Collection
Finally, all the hits – Sex Pit, Face The Meat, I Was A Teenage Bozo, Eel Goo – in one disgusting, sopping-wet, boner-punk package. Lumpy and his psychopathic band of basement creeps would be the best band in America if there were no other bands in America. But even now they’re like number three or four. (8⁄10)
Madysin Hatter: Lose Your Mind
There are those among us who really miss the sticky-sweet, top-shelf sleaze-glam of long-gone almost-weres Princess Pang. And for you I bring joyous news, because Jersey’s own Madysin Hatter scratches that same elusive itch. It’s 70s, it’s 80s, it’s now – she’s even got a goddamn top hat. If rock radio still existed, this record would be on it constantly. (6⁄10)
Nasty Ratz: First Bite
The album cover features a woman’s bloody, fishnetted thighs, which leads me to believe that it’s still 1986 in Prague, where Nasty Ratz come from from. Another clue? They’re called Nasty Ratz. And they have a song called Made Of Steel. Now? I mean, whatever. But the 17-year-old me from ago years ago fucking loves this record. (5⁄10)
