A higher echelon of has-beens assemble here to rock Ozzy tunes, replacing Ozzy’s trademark vocals with their own. Ditto with some well-respected axe-meisters.
Fraser harnesses images of horror to torture the men who deserve it. She thrusts rich cheats into Hell, with insects clicking their wings in their nostrils.
A little more touching Joan Jett balladry, but when they switch over to the “Do You Wanna Touch Me There” raunchy rock, that’s when my, um, ears perk up.
Sorta sound like Zeke with a less encyclopedic knowledge of the Kiss back catalogue, like the Killers’re more into the Dead Boys or mebbe the New Bomb Turks.
Irish folk-oriented punk became popular a few years back, but The Tossers have been doing it for ages, and they’ll keep doing it after the fad wears thin.
While I’ll hold on to R.I.P. dearly for one last glimpse of their excellence, I can’t help but feel that this compilation of sorts doesn’t do the band justice.
Major titles of the recent past include Speigelman’s holocaust tale, Maus, Cruse’s coming of gay age Stuck Rubber Baby, and Talbot’s child abuse homage, One Bad Rat.
High octane rock’n’roll murderjunkie action with the official Junk Seal of Approval, so it oughtta have yers as well. From up in Vancouver, BC, Canada.
Formed from the ashes of cult legends Union Carbide Productions, The Soundtrack of Our Lives has been one of the best unknown bands in the world for four years.
Jack Off Jill screams, they whisper and pant and breathe in your ear, then they lick your earlobe softly before driving a metal rod through your skull.
This stuff is pretty good, albeit kinda unfocused, cuz The Royal Beat Conspiracy jumps ’round the genrescope, but then again, not much more than the Stones.