The Flaming Sideburns
Hallelujah Rock ‘n’ Rollah (Bad Afro)
by Jon Sarre
Hallelujah Rock ‘n’ Rollah! My thoughts exactly. These wacky Finnskis get better and better every time I hear ’em. More soulful, too. They wear their grimy Stones influences on their sleeves amid loins and kick out Raw Power jams, so mebbe you can call ’em an update on New York Dolls, tho’ from another country, which when ya think about it, isn’t much different from bein’ from New York, ‘cept there seems to be better bands out there in Vikingland than the Big Apple (tho’ on the blatant “Some Girls” rip-off “Flowers,” singer Eduardo Martinez – who’s apparently from Argentina – says New York’s his kinda town, but then tells the cabby to get him outta there, cuz, unlike Lenny Kravitz or those chumps from the long-demised duo 3rd Bass, he can get a cab, but where’s he goin’? Hoboken? Newark? The airport?).
The Flaming Sideburns got a sense of humor, too, as doubtlessly any rock band who titles a song “World Domination” has to have. I’m not sure if the Sideburns are plottin’ it for themselves, or bitchin’ ’bout someone else’s, cuz Mr. Martinez is either sayin’ “I’m aghast,” “I’m a guest,” or “I’m a gas.” He starts the same song off with Iggy cats fucking imitations and then drops a “fe-e-e-e-e-e-l alr-i-i-i-i-i-i-ght” on the next cut, “The Sweet Sound of L*U*V” (which is a duet with some chick who could probably kick his ass), along with at least one “Rama lama” and a T-Rex reference. Then comes “Street Survivor,” which they do when they probably meant to do “Soul Survivor,” cuz that’s a Stones song and Street Survivors was the Skynard record that had ’em on the cover wit’ flames flyin’ off ’em, which is sorta a collector’s item nowadays cuz MCA took the fire out in subsequent pressings (y’know, cuz of that plane crash). Anyhow, it’s definitely more Richards boogie than Van Zandt. On the sorta pretty wasted’n’vacant “Stripped Down,” an obviously confused Eduardo sings about standing “by the Magic Garden backstage door.” Hmmm, anyone who’s been to the grimiest titty bar in Portland, Oregon, the Magic Garden, knows that it has no backstage, much less a backstage door. There’s a sidedoor, but they just keep trash there. He must be singin’ about a different Magic Garden.