Lynyrd Skynyrd are here again to unravel the nicotine-stained credo of every goddamn redneck cliché and characteristic until no stereotype is left untyped.
Filled with chest-puffing, fist-pounding gestures of manliness… but behold! There are interesting melodies, arrangements, and a Wild West saloon piano solo.
You hear about Dave the Christian, but he’s also an intense American, addictive, and he’s angry (again), and a student of rotten politics, conspiracies, and the flow of the money. A lethal combination.
Falsetto-howled classic heavy metal with plenty of throat-scratched snarl. Double-bass thunder, silly lyrics, and grooves/breakdowns to move your ass..
The paces are less suicidal, Dani’s screech is a little labored, and foot-stomp and spooky stalkings don’t make women clutch small children to their breast.
3/5ths of the band that made a pair of albums 30-some years ago is dead, leaving lead singer David Johansen, guitarist Syl Sylvian, and, uh, some other people.
I’ve never been a big Hatebreed fan, but I’ve always respected their work ethic, even if I haven’t gushed about how great their new batches of tunes are.
Someone made a radio-friendly Black Label Society by toning down the aggression, lowering the metal, throwing in big hooks, and prettying up the fellas.