The Bitchin' Camaros - S/T
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Yeah man, I realize the BC's copped their name from a Dead Milkmen song, but I told ya before, I don't name 'em, I just report on the blood and guts underneath. The Bitchin' Camaros are from Ottawa, which is just further proof that the Canada is the new Sweden, when it comes to rock n' roll. Bein' half Canuck myself, I ain't surprised. And unlike the Swedes, who- god bless 'em - spend a good half of their creative energy in picking out the right pair of mirrored shades and the coolest black t-shirt to pose in- Canadian superrockers don't really give a fuck about any of that. It's cold, man, they gotta wear flannel and workboots, and they accept it. Instead, they concentrate solely on melting the ice with supersonic flamethrowers of pure rock chaos, and the BC's do it better n' almost any of 'em. It's a simple confection, this sound, mixing up 70's power rock and 80's sleaze metal and 90's born-again redneck swagger punk, but you put that ungainly mess of criminal moves all in one place and you better bolt the fuckin' doors, Jack, cuz mayhem is afoot. Dig the southin' rawk meets berserker motorpunk of "DNP" for a prime example, or the chugging cock n' roll of "Bricks" or the Sunset Strip-on-bathtub-testosterone flash metal-grunge of "Flamazine" - effortlessly and with much gusto, the Bitchin' Camaros belch up fireballs of fury like they were born to fucking rock, man. So, you know, consider this 'un a manifest destiny. There ain't a track on here that won't peel the paint off yer walls or rush all yr blood to yr fists or yr penis or yr pussy or whatever body part ya got that wants some action. It's the absolute tits, plain and simple. So go get it.
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