Demo Reviews - August, 2004
By Sleazegrinder
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I was on semi-vacation all last month, which I figured was gonna be no problem, because what kind of maniacs would release records in the middle of the long, hot, dirty black summer?
Well, LOTS of maniacs released all kinds of stuff, and now there’s a pile of CDs halfway to the ceiling in the Sleaze HQ offices. And those fuckers never review themselves. But that’s not your concern, really. I’m just mentioning it because I usually do my demo reviews with a dizzy porn star, but since I’m under the gun with all the sizzlin’ summer hits I have to get to, I didn’t have the time to cavort with any lippy, loose-moraled chicks this time around. But in an effort to APPEAR as tho I did, I have included some of my fave message board posts from Frenchy psycho sex star Melissa Lauren, a 19 year old crazy girl whose goals include triple anal scenes and a she-male gang bang. You can see Melissa in Ten Little Piggies #4 (Platinum X), Straight Up the Pipe (Mayhem) and Dripping Wet Pink 5 (Simon Wolf) among many, many others. Besides her affection for brutal, dangerous sex, she also spends a lot of time prowling porn-related message boards like XXXporntalk and AdultDVDtalk, posting pix of herself ‘acting’ with a baseball bat, and challenging people to debate her on philosophy and religion in blunt, aggro Frenglish. She’s the best, man. I wish she had a column on Sleazegrinder. And if we ever NEED a column about taking baseball bats in the ass, she’s the first one I’m gonna call. Anyway, you can search around for what the original posts were actually about, but believe me, it hardly makes a difference. Onwards to Rock!

Straight outta Tel Aviv (!) the bomb-dodging Genders are the slinkiest, kinkiest, ass-rockinest cock n’ roll sensation in the Middle East. Well, the slinkiest, the only, whatever. And yeah, I realize that it’s culture shock to even consider an Israeli sleaze rock scene, but baby, they got booze and pussy EVERYWHERE, so it ain’t much of a surprise. What is a surprise is how fuck-on-the-floor BAD ASS the Genders’ opening salvo, “Horatio”, is. Coming on like some bleary-eyed cross ‘tween the Cramps and the Hellacopters, “Horatio” is a swaggering, full-throttle cock rock ode to oral sex, complete with free-flowing cowbell, Johnny Thunders-esque solo, and this chorus: “Hey baby, my name is Horatio/I perform cunnilingus in return for fellatio”. How’s THAT for a rhyming scheme? I mean, it’d be even better if one of ‘em was actually NAMED Horatio, but whatever. This song slays, baby.

S’funny, tho, these Genders slip in and out of styles and sounds like Vegas lounge lizards. “When I Grow Up (I Wanna Be a Fucking Stoner)” is a rubber-legged “Louie, Louie” cop, “Scream” is rattling indie-rock, the crazed “Sharleen” is frat-wrecking 60’s psyche-rock, “We Awright” rides a breezy Stones riff, and reeks of NYC superhipster stuff (it’s a deadringer for Cock N Roll faves Bona Roba), “Gender Bender” is sleazy acid-electro-punk, somewhere ‘tween Soft Cell and a gay S&M porn soundtrack, “They Wouldn’t Let You in the KKK” is the Butthole Surfers in a skirmish with an 80’s metal riff, and closer “High Heels” sounds like Oasis in a group-grope with the Alice Cooper band, circa ’72. And you know what the motherfucker of it is? It’s all GOOD.

Obviously, with so many genre-bending styles to choose from, it’s anybody’s guess where the Genders are going with all this top-shelf sleaze, but one thing’s for sure, wherever the fuck it is, I’m going with ‘em. Well, unless it’s to the Gaza Strip or somewhere. That shit’s too dangerous. Otherwise, the Genders (half of whom are US born, by the way, which probably explains the cock in their walk) are not only a revelation (they have rock and roll in the fucking DESERT!), but one of the best purveyors of the wild beast throb I’ve heard in months. And lucky for you, you can download their ENTIRE demo for free on their site. Goddamn, I love rock n’ roll.

Melissa says: “Sorry, I’m French, I don’t know what the fuck “I angered the French” means.”

Bonus: More hot Israeli chicks!
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Wherein four young Italians form a WASP cover band, because they feel, dig this, a spiritual connection with Blackie Lawless. Now, I have not met the cat, but most people say he’s one cold motherfucker, and as far as I can tell, WASP songs are all about fucking, or about Blackie himself, or some weird kinda sci-fi nonsense, right? I mean, he’s no Ian Astbury. But that’s the premise, and here’s the best part – their singer (and rhythm guit-player) is one Roby Black*. A FEMALE Blackie! A young, sexy, Italian girl-Blackie, who sounds like Doro Pesch, and who looks like the goth bad girl in a big budget splatter movie. How could this NOT be one of the greatest demos ever? The band slam through 4 faithful covers, all of ‘em from WASP’s

These pissers are gonna sound professional to you, right off the bat. They’re gonna sound like you already KNOW ‘em. That’s cuz you do. Half of these cats were in the infamous late 90’s goofball flash metal suicide the Unband (y’all remember “Rock Hard”, don’t ya?), and, later, in Honky Toast, which was the blaxploitation version of the Unband. Well, that whole sound – the relentless snark, the big, meaty AC/DC riffs, the arena-rattling scream-along choruses, the harmonica solos, the songs about fucking somebody’s girlfriend in the ass, they’re all on deck in this star-spangled display of macho, downtown thunder-rock. You know, like the Sex Slaves, Joker Five Speed, or the Slags. All the way downtown, dig? Now, part of you may wanna resist the pull of these headbanging dirtbag

If you’re doing your demos DIY, and you use one of those CD label punchers, or stompers, or whatever the fuck they’re called, chances are they’re gonna get stuck in somebody’s CD player. Especially their car’s CD player, cuz their air conditioner doesn’t work, and it’s 90 degrees out. What I mean to say is, I was a captive audience for CNL’s trio of indie-aggro garage rawk tunes while driving around last Friday, until the sun went down. Like, three hours. Stacey was pissed, she thought I broke the fucking thing.

Female-fronted Norwegian hard rock. I bet you’ve got an erection already. There’s only two tracks here, so it’s kinda hard to gauge exactly where Diabla are at. “Small Talk” is the rocker of the duo, with chugging goth-metal guitars and sweeping, Cult-ish vox from the impressively throaty (and equally impressively named) Beathe Sanden. A whole album’s worth of “Small Talk” tunes, and I might carve their name into my arm with a razor, or something. However, “I’m the Snake” is lightweight, almost lounge-y pop. So what gives? I dunno. Doro says to Fight for Rock, so I’m gonna have to insist that Diabla fuckin’ ROCK for now on.

Hey, look who it is- Chicago glam-punk semi-legends I Love Rich. This is a two-song taste o’ their upcoming full-length, “Year of the Rich” (isn’t EVERY year the year of the rich, tho?), and if you’ve ever heard these cars before, than you know what to expect – Paul Stanley fronting a fishnet-wearing mascara massacre band. “Let’s Get It On Tonight” has a chugging cock-rock riff and shout-along chorus straight out of “Too Fast for Love”. Sez here it’s the “extra long” version, but since it only runs a cuppla minutes, I think they might be making some kind of reference to their dicks. Glam bands do stuff like that. “If Loving Me is Wrong” is another 80’s fried cock rocker, part Ramones, part Poison. If ya dig flash metal with punky backbeat, then fuck, maybe you’ll love Rich, too.

Melissa says:  “He’ll probably have to slap me, choke me, and abuse me verbally before, but I’ll do it!”
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Italian stallions the Motor City Brags (formerly the Motor City Jail Rejects, if I’m reading their bio right, which I’m not, since it’s in Italian) play what they like to call “Full Violence Rock N’ Roll”, but what you might call an unholy alliance ‘tween Motorhead and Rick Derringer. 50’s inspired boogie-woogie biker riffs smash and crash into thrashy speed rock, and the result is typically schizoid Italo-noize. Of course, as far as the MCB are concerned, It’s Crue-copping glam metal, so let us roll with it. “Jail Rejects” is the scorcher of the pack, a big, brawling, cock rock song with about 17 minutes worth of Chuck Berry solos in it, and the closing live track, a cover of the Misfits' “Last Caress”, is a powerhouse as well. Not sure if these cats wanna play catchy rock n roll or just crush people’s skulls, but if it’s a ‘glam-punk Kiss’ sound they’re after, they’re at least halfway there already.


Listen: One Eyed Jacks ______________________________________________________________________________________

Robbie “Tom Kat” Quine, former front, uh, man for LA trannie-draggy surf-creep rockers Sex With Lurch, moved to Hawaii and formed this brand new neon-colored cavalcade of feather boas, Bay City Rollers choruses, cocaine-diva-bitch rants, and New York Dolls riffs. It’s like Rocky Horror in grass skirts and coconut bras, or somethin’. I’ll tell ya this much- you really, REALLY couldn’t get much campier, or glammier, than the Prancing Ponies. For example, the innuendo-laden “Thar She Blows” tosses in as many gay-nautical references as three minutes of 60’s fuzz-rawk will allow, and “Bat Queen”, as you might have predicted, is the “Batman” theme, tramped up with hissy drag-queen dialogue. But it’s not all fishnets and plucked eyebrows, tho. “Love Means Never Having to Say You’re Guitarry” is a remarkably straight (ahem) forward Donovan-esque love song, and Quine’s cover of the Thunders’ ballad “You Can’t Put Your Arm Around a Memory” is suitably tender and heartfelt. Or at least as heartfelt as a band called the fuckin’ Prancing Ponies is gonna get.

Melissa says: “I don’t give a shit about the physical appearance of my partner (except if he’s a midget or dwarf or whatever funny thing you could want to see me with), as long as they fuck really good.”
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Finnish glambangers Rosy Dream lean heavy on the Deep Purple organ here, but their intentions are most certainly hot pink. With their heavy, 70’s prog-glam sound, Rosy Dream are like Slade, Gary Glitter, Status Quo, and whatever glam-leaning NWOBHM bands you can think of, all rolled up into one big ball of Marshall stacks, tartan plaid, and silver spangly boots. The epic of the bunch here, “Full Sound in Stereo” features Elton John electric piano tinkling, Bolan-esque glitter rock riffs, and a deep, rolling, stoner rock groove. Bitchin’. “13th Day” is a rousing acid-fuzz rocker that sounds like psyche-warriors Baby Woodrose. “Lazer Macy” is a stomping arena-glam with a copped T Rex riff, and “4.02” sounds like Monster Magnet blasted on sugar pills. Groovy, man.

Smilex play glammy brit-rock. Contrary to what is sez in lotsa places (their bio, various regional reviews, bathroom walls in Leeds dive bars) Smilex are NOT a trashy, sleazy rock n’ roll disaster, a slime-trail of booze and buggery. Nope. They’re actually more like Blur or somethin’. Like Blur with a hot chick on bass and predilection for flipping out on spacy arena-rock epics. This here is a single-with-benefits – “Mystique” smells like teen spirit, and it’s ‘b’ side, “Sex for Sale” is a hook-heavy cock rocker. I mean, it’s kinda classy for cock rock, but hell, it IS about whores. Speakin’ of which, “My Madonna Whore” is one of those very British bliss-rocker tunes, with the guitars that stretch out to Heaven, you know. “Spike My Drink” is funky and fuzzy, like the Cherry Valance, and closer “Noize!” is a sexy

Italian narco-industro zombie rockers Zap have about a thousand ideas rushing through their reanimated brains, and they try ‘em all out at least once on this crazed 16 track demo. Culling inspiration from Kiss, White Zombie, Marilyn Manson, and other theatrical shock-rock outfits, Zap mix horror-movie synths with stun-gun electro-metal guitars, cool ghoul vox, an 69 Eyes style arena-goth, to create a black leather monster of dark rock n’ roll. Although these tracks run the gamut from rainy Bowie glam (there’s even a faithful cover of “The Man Who Sold the World” on here) to jarring, spiky industro-rock, the overall Zap sound is like a post-