Classic Rock - Robert Plant - USA (2019-12)

Tribute To Chuck Berry ‘Business
friends he ain’t got any... He don’t
know who’s in his band, he only
hears the crow’) – the record
shifts to covers of songs
recorded by Berry during his
classic Chess Records years.
Slow blues Wee Wee Hours, on
which Imelda May takes over on
lead vocals, is the oldest (dating
from 1955), and I’m Talking About
Yo u (from 1961, covered by the
Stones for Out Of Our Heads) the
most modern. May also sings on
the shuffle Almost Grown and
Rock’n’Roll M.
But the success of this album
is down to Ronnie taking a low-
key approach rather than the
hell-for-leather bombast more
common with Berry covers.
It’s short – 11 tracks over in
less than 39 minutes – but
genuinely sweet.
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Neil Jeffries

Grand Slam
Hit The Ground MARSHALL
One of the year’s best debuts.
There will be
those who
will decry Grand
Slam because of
Phil Lynott’s
memory. But what’s been done
on Hit The Ground proves that
the band as they are now have
outstanding qualities.
Sure, half the album is songs
from that brief period in 1984
when the original Grand Slam
were touring. But the likes of

Military Man, 19, Dedication and

Sisters Of Mercy have been

reimagined brilliantly with

verve and fire.

There are also five new songs,

written by the current foursome,

and these hold up well against

the earlier material. Recent

single Gone Are The Days has an

affecting anthemic groove, the

title track offers class and swing,

and passionate ballad Long Road

could easily cross the band over

into the mainstream.

This album emphasises that

Grand Slam are a band for the

present and the future, and who

don’t need to trade on that

Lynott connection.

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Malcolm Dome

Sheryl Crow

Threads BIG MACHINE

Famous friends bidding

a fond farewell?

If Sheryl Crow is

serious about

recent hints

that this will be

her last album,

then Threads will prove to be

a pretty good leaving party with

an impressive guest list of duet

partners. It also reminds us how

at ease she can be in any

number of genres; the soulful

blues of Live Wire (with Mavis

Staples and Bonnie Raitt), the

down-home country of Lonely

Alone (with Willie Nelson).

She’s at her best and most

fiery in default-setting rock-chick

mode, sparring with Joe Walsh

on the holler-and-response of

Still The Good Old Days, the sassy

strut of Prove You Wrong in

tandem with Stevie Nicks, and

saddling up with Jason Isbell for

a gallop through Bob Dylan’s

Everything Is Broken.

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Terry Staunton

Exhorder

Mourn The Southern Skies

NUCLEAR BLAST

Classic groove thrash.

Let’s be blunt.

Exhorder came

up with the

type of groove-

oriented

approach to thrash which later

proved successful for Pantera

and Machine Head. Yet this

New Orleans band have

remained in obscurity.

Mourn The Southern Skies is

their first new release in 27

years, but it shows that the fury

and dynamic are as vital and

convincing as ever. Only

vocalist Kyle Thomas and

guitarist Vinnie LaBella are left

from the line-up which recorded

the crucial Slaughter In The

Vatican and The Law albums in

the early 90s, but this fresh

incarnation bristles with the

band’s trademark ferocity.

My Time quickly slides into

a fulminating pattern, while

Hallowed Sound and Beware The

Wolf snarl and spit. Yesterday’s

Bones reins back the pace,

exposing Exhorder’s ability to

hold a firm melodic line, and the

title track has broodingly

charismatic darkness.

This album is affirmation of

Exhorder’s ongoing importance

in metal.

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Malcolm Dome

Quiet Riot

Hollywood Cowboys

FRONTIERS

Their singer has bailed, but

they’re still rocking.

In 1983, when

Quiet Riot had

the No.1 album

in the US with

Metal Health,

they hit peak gonzoid with its

title track, as wild-eyed singer

Kevin DuBrow demanded: ‘Bang

your head! Metal health’ll drive

you mad!’ Now, 12 years after the

death of DuBrow, the band’s

long-serving drummer Frankie

Banali is banging his head out of

sheer frustration.

Shortly after this new album

was recorded, singer James

Durbin quit. But, as Banali

explained, it was too late, and

too expensive, to re-record the

vocals with the guy who has

now returned to Quiet Riot,

former Love/Hate and Ratt

frontman Jizzy Pearl.

That’s the bad news. The

good news is that Hollywood

Cowboys (so knowingly titled)

kicks ass in the classic Quiet Riot

tradition, with old-school

bangers such as Heartbeat City

and Insanity. A blues number,

Roll On, adds contrast. And

Durbin, a former American Idol

contestant, at least sang these

songs like he meant it.

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Paul Elliott

Down ‘N’ Outz

This Is How We Roll UMC

Joe Elliott’s side-project band

move all the way up.

Started as

a labour-of-love

support band

for the

re-forming Mott

The Hoople in 2009, Def

Leppard singer Joe Elliott’s Down

‘N’ Outz then released 2011’s My

Re-Generation and 2014’s The

Further Adventures Of....

Between Leppard

commitments, Elliott has spent

the past five years making This Is

How We Roll, their strongest

album yet, working on its 11

tracks with co-producer Ronan

McHugh, guitarists Paul Guerin

(Quireboys) and Guy Griffin,

keyboard player Keith Weir,

bassist Share Ross and

drummer Phil Martin. Inspired

by music he grew up with, Elliott

sings piano ballads (Let It Shine),

big rockers (Boys Don’t Cry),

heartfelt Bowie tribute Goodbye

Mr Jones and a spirited cover of

The Tubes’ White Punks On Dope.

He’s to be congratulated.

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Kris Needs

Bitch Queens:

infectiously

catchy and

effortlessly

rock’n’roll.

ROUND-UP: SLEAZE By Sleazegrinder

Control Freaks

She’s The Bomb SLOVENLY

Garage punks from San

Francisco unloose a flurry

of jukebox-ready hits on

this one, a woozy boozy

screamalong of fast and

furious rock’n’roll with lyrics ripped straight

from a bathroom wall. There’s a female

singer and a male singer and sometimes it

sounds like they’re strangling each other. If

I’ve got any complaint at all, it’s that it’s over

too quick. Control Freaks think anything over

two minutes is fucking prog rock.

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Atom Age

Cry Until You Die SELF-RELEASED

Snarly garage rock with

a noir-ish edge, like the

night might start off at

the sock hop but it’ll end

up with a dead body in

the trunk for sure. Everything is three times

tougher than it should be, from the surf

riffs to the sax skronks to the Farfisa

keyboard links. I don’t know how you end

up in a state like this. Is it psychosis or drug

problems or just good taste? It’s like

werewolves just discovered 1966.

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Gino And The Goons

Rip It Up SLOVENLY

You know how when you

think of Florida now you

instantly think of ‘Florida

Man’, which is always

the beginning of a news

report about a guy punching out an

alligator in his front yard while his house

burns down? This is the soundtrack to all

those stories – and it’s magnificent. Punk

rock that’s gross and greasy and heaves

around the room knocking shit over. 1,000

years from now it’ll be considered a classic.

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Bitch Queens

City Of Class LUX NOISE

These saucy, mustache-

twirling Swiss misters

ply a kind of satin-

jacketed, Saturday-

night-eternal death-

punk that’s so infectiously catchy and so

effortlessly rock’n’roll that you start to

feel like they invented Turbonegro, and

not vice versa. Which is not to say this

album is all some sailor boy pastiche,

especially given Turbo’s predilection for

AOR synthesiser bullshit these days.

Nope, this is full-on hard-core sweat-’n’-

blood action rock, and the hits come on

thick and heavy, from the window-

smashing title track opener to the furious

riffola of All My Money to the snarling,

wild-eyed punk of Vote For Pedro.

I would like to be able to report some

royal fuck-up somewhere on City Of Class,

just so you don’t think I’m overselling it,

but, I’m sorry, they don’t blow it. There

are no clunkers here, and no ballads

either. It’s the goddamn rock’n’roll

record of the year. And if that is not

readily apparent to you, then you deserve

Greta Van Fleet.

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Dead Furies

Stay Gold Pony Boy SELF-RELEASED

Estonia’s finest action

rockers return with an

instant classic full of

swaggering, rubber-

legged glitter punk/

junk that sounds like it was scraped right

out of the gutters of the bowery back

when half of the Heartbreakers were

overdosing in the bathtub every other

weekend. It’s kinda like a feral Hanoi Rocks.

Endlessly repeatable. Hasn’t left the

turntable for weeks.

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