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Ah, how I yearn for the dead languages. Acey Slade has a sleazy
voice cut out of stone. He's got the pipes, the confidence, and the
unabashed cliché milking followed by shocking originality that
it takes to inhabit the spirit of rock and roll. "Wham bam thank
you ma'am," and, "a smile like a Cheshire cat" are
interspersed with possible C.S. Lewis references and a sickened
throwback to "The Streak" with "She got herself buried
in a board bag in the desert/ wearing nothing but her skin."
The band is really good, too; guitar solos at once bright and fuzzy
like a dial-up internet tone, spot on drumming, nice gangland backup
vocals. The production is faultless, and it's nicely melodic.
But being a great glam-metal band is akin to being the best Gaelic
yodeler alive. Unless there are nests of L.A. burnouts in bomb shelters
raising their offspring on W.A.S.P. and Kik Tracee LPs,
who's going to buy this stuff? Look fellers, I know you're young and
probably think this was the shit back in the day. Truth be told, Motley
Crue sucked back then too, I lived through it. Even though Trashlight
Vision kicks out an interesting and unobvious Ramones cover
with "My Brain is Hanging Upside Down," one band member
needs to have his mohawk revoked, having nothing to do with punk.
Maybe I'm wrong and the kids will really ironically dig this like
all the stoner rock that's been puked up lately. They've opened for
Stiff Little Fingers and Buzzcocks, but I suspect those
acts had no say in it. How about a glam band that performs in Latin,
it'll be called Xamfir - king of the skin flute.
-Ewan Wadharmi
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