 Sahara Hotnights Here's the album that everyone secretly wishes Sleater-Kinney would make, if they could stop being so fuckin' bad. It's also the record that people want the Donnas to make, if they could stop doing the same thing over and over. Balls-out, hook-filled rock like T-Rex and Slade used to make. Like the Shocking Blue should have been. Like Joan Jett tried and tried and tried to get at. Piercing guitar lines, supertight drums, stadium-style harmonies, and lots of build-up, jump-around, raise-yer-fist dynamics. The album shows up in a limo with the stereo blarin', comes into your house for a three-day party, and leaves you to clean up all the champagne bottles. The difference between this and all the other ironorock out there nowadays is that this one has songs. It's like a bag of Big League Chew, sugary-sweet, almost enough to make you sick. But with more of a real nicotine kick.
Review by Amazo Medici |