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R.I.P. - Street Reaper

It’s almost indescribable how relentlessly obnoxious R.I.P.’s guitar tone is. It sounds diseased, leprous, like rotting fingers are falling off mid-solo; like the tape it was recorded on was covered in some unearthly, slimy green mould and the spores are now glued to the insides of your ears forever and will probably kill you within the decade.
The tracks on Street Reaper drag along like the knuckles of a Sasquatch digging for lunch in a giant pile of garbage, dazed and confused but feral and dangerous, every riff a late rent check, every crashing cymbal another STD to get checked for, every song a ‘Gas, Grass or Ass’ bumper sticker come to screaming life. If R.I.P. weren’t such drug-abusing creeps they would probably get lumped in with latterday doom rockers like Windhand, Uncle Acid or Bloody Hammers, but there is something so beautifully unsavoury about this album that it’s really in a (low) class of its own. (⁷⁄₁₀)

Black Mambas - Moderation

Here’s the weird thing: I used to live in a world where basically every band sounded like this, like some hornball teenage delinquents copping the riffs Johnny Thunders copped from Chuck Berry. Now almost no one sounds like this. Which makes Black Mambas maybe the most crucial band on the fucking planet right now. Buy this record, save rock’n’roll. Pretty simple. (⁸⁄₁₀)

Night Squad - Shaken

Night Squad are probably the only band on the planet writing songs about the 1950s comedy Auntie Mame and the 70s sitcom The Mary Tyler Moore Show. If you’re under 50 you’ll probably have to do some Googling to get the references, but the music you’ll get right away. It’s sleazy, nasty, bar-fighting punk rock. Superb! (⁷⁄₁₀)

Wyldlife - Out On Your Block

Holy smokes, what a record! The third full-length album from NYC band Wyldlife finds them mining Sweet-era glam and Dead Boys-era punk for maximum snarl and hooks that go on for days. Give this album a spin and you’ll be clapping along like some kinda maniac almost immediately. If you’re looking for the heart of Saturday night, this is most definitely it. (⁸⁄₁₀)

Beauty School Massacre - A Zozo We Will Gogo

Sleaze metal from Texas. Which means it’s harder and uglier and sweatier than usual. Basically it’s like a satanic Warrior Soul with none of the political conspiracy theories but exactly the same amount of sex, mayhem and alcohol abuse. I dig it. It’s like getting smacked in the skull with a hammer for 40 straight minutes. (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.