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Bible Of The Devil: For The Love Of Thugs & Fools

This is the sixth album from these tireless Chicago beard-warriors. A decade ago these dudes sounded not unlike a screechy teenage knife fight in an alley. Over time they’ve refined their Marshall-stacked assault into a hook-heavy jukebox blast of twin-guitar-fortified classic rock that’s very clearly influenced by Thin Lizzy, home-town heroes Trouble and the NWOBHM (Tank!), but which is still uniquely their own. Just about every song is about the night: running around it in (I Know What Is Right In The Night), hiding from the sun in it (Can’t Turn Off The Sun), and even naming streets after it (Night Street). The rest of the songs here are about headbanging and chicks. One of them (Anytime) sounds like a doom-rock Hold Steady. There’s even a sax solo in there somewhere. It’s a heroically capital-R Rawk record for denim-vested true believers. As the title implies, basically you’ve already lived this album many times, so embrace the soundtrack of your wasted years. (⁷⁄₁₀)

Satan’s Satyrs: Wild Beyond Belief!

Disgusting biker sludge brewed in Virginia and scraped from the heels of Altamont, a gloriously ugly bludgeoning that’s one part groovy fuzzadelica, 17 parts homicidal menace and 665 parts total doom. Like Pussy Galore, Venom and Witchfinder General eating each other alive. There’s a good chance that if you listen to this alone you’ll wake up chained to a radiator. (⁶⁄₁₀)

The Hangmen: East of Western

Long-running LA cowboy killers The Hangmen have added a Supersucker to their ranks (guitarist Ron Heathman, who definitely adds a big rawk swagger to the mix), but otherwise the songs remain the same – dark, harrowing tales of love gone cold, played with considerable spit and venom. They’re the Guns N’ Roses who never got famous, but never blew it either. (⁷⁄₁₀)

Nudity: Heavy Petting

From Nashville (but really from a haunted shack and/or your nightmares), Nudity is female-fronted scuzz rock that’s like the Shangri-Las from outer space – like whatever planet the monster from Alien is from. It’s teenage dance music gone horribly, awesomely wrong, played by brats who know how to party. For full hissy impact, try the cassette version. (⁶⁄₁₀)

The Band In Heaven: Sleazy Dreams

I don’t know if it’s kosher to call a band from Florida ‘grebo’, but what the hell, these sunbaked freaks sound grebo to me. Imagine Gaye Bykers On Acid and the Bomb Party touring India in 1967 and really just losing their shit completely. That’s pretty much what you’ve got here on Sleazy Dreams – lo-fi grebo-gaze for adventurous rocker creeps and reckless pill poppers. (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.