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LORDS OF ALTAMONT
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If there were an assortment of
Gods up there looking down on us (whaddya mean ‘were’?) like in Jason and
the Argonauts then this is possibly what they’d have been aiming for when
the first experiment ended up as BRMC. What happened to your punk rock?
Seems these chaps nicked it and left you to flounder in your sub Mary
Chain, wannabe Spiritualized screed. As Ian Hunter may have said –
‘Rock’n’Rowll, Sweetheart’. |
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-Stu Gibson |
At
laaaaast some garage groove
that whilst having a hit n’ high of the MC5 / Stooges rhythm schtick rises
above the Ig groping garbage and is a genuine grind in the gutter. Sure,
‘Let’s Burn’ has more than an eye on ‘T.V. Eye’, if ya dig, but before I
got my cynical wires crossed I remembered that Spacemen 3 did the same
thing and at least these Lords are well-connected enough to cut it with
their own source (by way of ‘Gimme Some Lovin’ sure but hey!). Even more
thankfully there’s not a trace of Iggy vocalising, which is getting as
much a cliché as Jack ‘n’ coke, cheap smack, a bit of spiky awry hair, a
cheap looking guitar...nope, instead these guys, as you mighta twigged by
their name, have kissed the crystals from the dark end days of the 60’s
anti-gravity and sucked it up into their own squalid compound to be a new
scourge of the streets. For this unholy smelting of Sabbath / MC5 pounding
and desire for dark derangement set to swampy sewer-suppin’ pavement sawin’
cranked-up ‘Cyclone’s is like days of yore when it seemed Thee Hypnotics
stood bravely alone resisting the pull of the quicksand dragging ‘em down
into the depths of ‘walking dereliction’. As with Boston’s Turpentine
Brothers they have a hallucinatory haze of a fairytale, fairground organ
that recalls the Murder City Devils, especially on ‘Buried From The Knees
Down’, almost as though they’re playing from inside Jim Morrison’s psyche,
powered on the essence of the darkest recesses of his storm ridin’ mind.
‘Tough As Nails’ swaggers through that barrier, gets up for the get down,
and sets hope burnin’ that one day they may attain full regal Rocka status
and match The Makers ‘Rock Star Gods’ before they meet their own Altamont.
Elsewhere they gulp the gas and roll holy highways on ‘Velvet’, which
trounces about three Jam songs into a cubicle and emerging trailing bits
of Johnny Thunders, Dead Boys, Dragons and The Weaklings in its wasted
wake, ‘$4.95’ pillages the Flamin’ Groovies ‘Headin’ For The Texas Border’
but y’know fuck it all and fuck it ‘tis about time someone did. Gawd knows
I tried when I was 19 so I’m glad someone’s done it, and done it with such
abandon it’s like they’re so far past the Texas border they’re gonna drive
off the bloody Golden Gate Bridge and love every ‘Live Fast’ second of it.
A cover of Spector classic ‘He Cried’, as ‘She Cried’ in true Hollywood
Brats style, would wipe any gal’s tears away, tell her to quit whimpering
then leave with her on the back of his bike anyway, Phil Lynott style.