Towers of London/Blood Sweat and Tears: TVT

Falling in line behind the continuum of Slade, Hanoi Rocks, Guns N’ Roses, Dogs D’Amour, Turbonegro, and punk-infested cock rock, these bullet-belted, skinny beanpole pants adorned, pint-swirling and lust-ridden lads belt out humungous head-bangin’ heat with equal parts snot and suss, though it tends to more gimmicky than real vitriol. “I Lose It” is the seminal sonic flame-encrusted supernova, “I see you in the park and I lose it,” all muddy roar and sexual animalism, while “Fuck it Up,” is well, anthemic and ornery, like later period Cockney Rejects without the skinhead shadows. However, the Bowie wink early on “King,” replete with strings and softness at the beginning, ends up heading right up the rock shithouse, revealing smeared megalomania. Yet, the singer attacks pop star megalomania, and its famished, fake, and clean-living bullshit on “Kill the Pop Scene,” which points its guns at “parasites of society” while extolling porno’s “X-rated dreams…” which are better than “the nightmare pop that floats on your screen.” Meanwhile, “Beaujolais” bemoans the unlikable ex-pat American grrl from “life of luxury USA,” who’s the money maker on TV, while the slower, chugging, back to basics “Start Believing” tries to outrun the feeling of losing control while the unnamed millions try to start believing again. It lacks the overall absurdity, old-fashioned bubblegum tenderness, and fractured, mondo B-movie quality of the Ramones, and the sleazy Sunset Ave. heights and sordid tattooed glee of Gun and Roses, and the mystic rock-a-rolla stage show of Turbonegro, which is not to say that tuneage like “Northern Lights” doesn’t have a British backboned, working class campiness and beat-‘em-on-the-head, restless Whiskey a Go Go dream variations.

Worth two and a half potato chips.