Chapel Hill dandies in the underworld Snatches of Pink return to the fray with Stag, a roughly-hewn collection of swirling, purple-powered glam rock that drawls and drowses in it’s quieter moments, and then suddenly awakens like a bull god with an appetite for destruction for the album’s victory dances. Hot on the heels of last year’s (mighta been 18 months, who counting?) glamtastic “Hyena”, Stag is a darker and dustier affair, with one-word song titles that suggest a fateful road trip (“No Station”, “Texas”, “Snake”, “The Ape”, “Painted Gun”) and a carefully crafted sound that’s part stardust cowboy, part midnight rambler. “Stag” might be a concept album, I dunno, but it definitely sounds like 9 pieces of the same rock n’ roll puzzle. If you looking for a hit, I’d probably suggest “Snake”, a hypnotic slice of Stones-y glam-grunge that oozes through your ears like honey, or it’s hand-clapping, foot-stomping follow-up, “Dance”. The title song is a shaky, skeletal rocker that brings to mind the Screaming Trees lost somewhere on the endless highway, with nothing but the stars to guide them home; conversely “Texas” is the rough and rumbling sound of a band that knows exactly where it’s at, and just want to be somewhere else. Closer “The Ape” is actually scary at it’s start, a blurry tangle of stoner riffs and deadman’s howls, but it miraculously ends in a Bowie-esque “Na-na-na” singalong and a sweetly chiming glitter rock riff, suggesting that the dark night is over.

Victory from the jaws of defeat, you know the story. It’s a good one.

If there is any magic left in rock n’ roll, Snatches of Pink are in possession of it. Still.