The best elements of tough girl rock (think Pat Benetar, Patty Smythe, DiVinyls) with the muscle of Joan Jett and L7, yet infusing it with personal touch.
Traditional blues standards interpreted by a guy who sounds like a more soulful Howlin’ Wolf who played a cheapo trebly electric Fender rip-off of some sort.
Anti-Flag are energetic punks with their hearts in the right place, and they put on a great live show, as long as you ignore the stage banter between songs.
Part of the crime is how bad some of the material here is – Alice not afraid to suck the tailpipe of trend like a mangy mutt misguidedly after a sugar fix.
A mixture of Goth rock and black metal vocals, occasional doomy plods, interspersed with wind-swept mountain views and staggering ballerina keyboard tinkles.
Plays like blacklight fractured genius. Part Nuggets adulation, a healthy dose of Cramps style un-repentant psychosis, all lathered with oozing sexual whatsis.
Cardboard stereotypes that rebel in boring ways at safe times, and end up in the same place as if they’d never fought the good fight in the first place.