ROUND-UP: SLEAZE By Sleazegrinder Thunderdikk
From page 76 of Classic Rock Magazine June 2011
Magnum Love Self-released Given all the double Ks and penis references involved in Thunderdikk’s debut album, you may mistake them for wig-wearing mock-rockers, à la Steel Panther and the like. Well, you would be wrong. The ugly/awesome truth is that not everybody is in the glam-metal game for yucks – some folks actually believe in the enduring power of one-night stands, seven-day weekends, and guitars shaped like the letter ‘V’.
Straight off of the gold-gilded streets of LA (naturally) and led by the leatherlunged Dikk Thunder (also naturally), Thunderdikk pay reverent homage to their flash metal forefathers, from Steeler to Skid Row, with all the squealy-guitared excess you’d expect. Plus, every single song is a pornographic wonderland of back-alley sexual antics and free-flowing rock debauchery, from the sleazy come-ons of the fabulously titled Bra OffParty On to the hardcore horrors of HotZombie Fuck. If Caligula had a house band (and electricity and some manner of amplification, I suppose), it’d most certainly be Thunderdikk.
The Demon Dance Transubstans Gloriously excessive Swedish dope-rock with thick, ropy riffs slathered with bursts of proggy organ, a mountain flattening rhythm section, songs about making love to six-armed space-goddesses, and an aura of epic, bare-chested, furbooted awesomeness. If you like your rock manly, there’s about a hundred gallons of testosterone packed into this one. ■■■■■■■■■■
Casualty of the City Self-released White Cadillac – three rock‘n’roll lifers from Ohio – offer us a glimpse of what might happen if James Hetfield and Fu Manchu got together one hazy weekend to bash out some early Crüe covers, but then got so liquored up they decided to just drive around town kidnapping people instead. As their name suggests, this is a classy ride for sleazy people.
Lester and the Landslide Ladies
Estranged in Ladyland Tornado Ride This record is like a really with-it teenager’s bedroom circa 1979, littered with Ramones posters, AC/DC albums, a bottle or two of glue and some dirty mags. More punchy glam-punk from these bratty Italians, perfect for kicking out windows, disappointing your folks, puking on your shoes, or flunking high school. ■■■■■■■■■■
As Fast As My Home Town Self-released Indiana’s favourite party wreckers sound like they’re literally killing somebody while they play, like every guitar solo is really just the sound of some poor fucker getting his head smashed in. There’s little bits of doom-rock and speed-punk here and there, but mostly this is just pure animal aggression; angry, blood-guiling rock’n’roll for criminals and lunatics. ■■■■■■■■■■