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Thunderdikk: Magnum Love

Given all the double Ks and penis references involved in Thunderdikk’s debut album, you may mistake them for wig-wearing mock-rockers, à la Steel Panther and the like. Well, you would be wrong. The ugly/awesome truth is that not everybody is in the glam-metal game for yucks – some folks actually believe in the enduring power of one-night stands, seven-day weekends, and guitars shaped like the letter ‘V’. Straight off of the gold-gilded streets of LA (naturally) and led by the leather-lunged Dikk Thunder (also naturally), Thunderdikk pay reverent homage to their flash metal forefathers, from Steeler to Skid Row, with all the squealy-guitared excess you’d expect. Plus, every single song is a pornographic wonderland of back-alley sexual antics and free-flowing rock debauchery, from the sleazy come-ons of the fabulously titled Bra Off Party on to the hardcore horrors of Hot Zombie Fuck. If Caligula had a house band (and electricity and some manner of amplification, I suppose), it’d most certainly be Thunderdikk. (⁷⁄₁₀)

Sideburn: The Demon Dance

Gloriously excessive Swedish dope-rock with thick, ropy riffs slathered with bursts of proggy organ, a mountain-flattening rhythm section, songs about making love to six-armed space-goddesses, and an aura of epic, bare-chested, fur-booted awesomeness. If you like your rock manly, there’s about a hundred gallons of testosterone packed into this one. (⁸⁄₁₀)

White Cadillac: Casualty Of The City

White Cadillac – three rock‘n’roll lifers from Ohio – offer us a glimpse of what might happen if James Hetfield and Fu Manchu got together one hazy weekend to bash out some early Crüe covers, but then got so liquored up they decided to just drive around town kidnapping people instead. As their name suggests, this is a classy ride for sleazy people. (⁷⁄₁₀)

Lester And The Landslide Ladies: Estranged in Ladyland

This record is like a really with-it teenager’s bedroom circa 1979, littered with Ramones posters, AC/DC albums, a bottle or two of glue and some dirty mags. More punchy glam-punk from these bratty Italians, perfect for kicking out windows, disappointing your folks, puking on your shoes, or flunking high school. (⁶⁄₁₀)

Bulletwolf: As Fast As My Home Town

Indiana’s favourite party wreckers sound like they’re literally killing somebody while they play, like every guitar solo is really just the sound of some poor fucker getting his head smashed in. There’s little bits of doom-rock and speed-punk here and there, but mostly this is just pure animal aggression; angry, blood-guzzling rock’n’roll for criminals and lunatics. (⁶⁄₁₀)

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.