Halfcocked use AC/DC to explain why they write stripped-down, predictable, (cliché-)pounding rock songs. But they look cool in the latest glammy/trashy fashion.
The second half remembers that funky rock the Spin Doctors did that we’ve worked so hard to forget, but the first few songs aren’t half bad radio rock.
Plenty of hoo-rah chest-thumping Rage ATM rapping and syrupy guitar chugs that stomp around in small, concentric circles, but also a strong sense of melody.
Basic biker-slanted doom rock with vocals roughed up enough so no one will mistake it for a Sabbath demo. On the Spirit Caravan side, but more rudimentary.
Pioneers of destruction like Sex Pistols, GG, Dead Boys, and Iggy, upon revisiting, words like “primal” and “raw” are replaced with “ugh” and “shitty sounding.”
Every cliché of power metal and classic-style heavy metal down pat, yet with meticulous songcraft and phenomenal musicianship, they soar above all others.
Andrew McMahon is off to a good start, with moments like a Jellyfish cover band just starting out on their own. Like a future Ben Folds as he finds his legs.