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The Cocaine Wolves: Royal Feast

You would think, given their aggressive moniker, that these wolves on drugs would basically sound like someone getting murdered in their bathtub with a chainsaw. And they do, mostly. Cocaine Wolves’ feral knife-rock rears its toothy head on full-on berserko tracks like opener Live Right, Live Tight and the chest-thumping Ladies’ Night. However, they’re equally adept at strapping on spiked codpieces and bullet-belts and bashing out impressively over-the-top NWOBHM-y thunder-chug, as evidenced by the amazingly macho-metallic Dingeaux’s Montreaux. Basically, if there existed some alt.world where 1983-era Metallica were from Muncie, and instead of becoming extremely rich and famous and selling millions of records they just stayed in Indiana and worked as pizza delivery men for the next 25 years, Royal Feast is the album they would make. It’s too bad that didn’t happen, because this record is way better than Death Magnetic. (⁸⁄₁₀)

Demons: Scarcity Rock

Demons emerged from the denim-clad clusterfuck that was the 00’s Scandinavian action-rock explosion. While their twin-guitar battering fell neatly in line with world-champion rawkists like Hellacopters and Turbonegro, Demons always were more sinister than their hedonist compatriots. On this psyched-out epic, they take it all the way, balancing their tasty greaser-rock with a pitch-black world view. (⁷⁄₁₀)

The Hot Rails: Single Entendre

I really wish this record had some scratch-’n’-sniff capabilities, because I’m sure this is exactly what Hot Rails’ home town, Cleveland, smells like. It’s a staggering, belching, belligerent joyride through late-70s garbage metal and post-Guns sleaze rock, every song an ode to overindulgence and underachievement, every riff calculated to dampen panties and/or hail Satan. (⁶⁄₁₀)

Thunder Driver: Atomic Rock

Zion, Illinois isn’t exactly the deep south, but you wouldn’t know that after hearing this record from what I can only imagine are Zion’s finest sons. Thunder Driver’s unflagging allegiance to whisky, pussy and southern-fried speed-rock make ‘em sound like Nashville Pussy, only with an Angelwitch back-patch and a fistful of benzos. Play this loud enough and it’ll probably impregnate your girlfriend. (⁶⁄₁₀)

Torpedohead: Let’s Go For a Ride

Germany’s preeminent glam-slam revivalists return with punchy five-song EP that re-imagines AC/DC as snotty, mascara-abusing Hollywood punks. From the catchy glitter-metal of Black Rain to rugged closer Paintrain, Let’s Go For A Ride offers up gooey pop-hooks and black eyes in equal measure. It’s like a party tape for people who plan on burning the house down as soon as the party is over. (⁷⁄₁₀)

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.