Mad Doctors - No Waves, Just Sharks album review

The best sleaze you can get this month

Cover art for Mad Doctors - No Waves, Just Sharks album

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If there’s one thing I miss about the old daze of Reagan-era NY rock’n’roll it’s the scuzz: the mildewy layers of scum, pus and crust that infected noiseniks like White Zombie and Pussy Galore. Well, I’m happy to report that these unruly hairballs from Brooklyn are so authentically NYC death-rattle scuzzy that Gorbachev oughta drop a nuclear bomb on ’em.

It’s surf music for dudes who’ve never seen sunlight, never mind the beach. It’s psychedelic garbage rock for harsh times, like Monster Magnet if they never graduated rock’n’roll high school and just live in the basement now, eating discarded baloney sandwiches and worshipping at the temple of Fonzie. You should know they wear lab coats covered in sweat and grease stains, and that the dopest jam on deck is called Shit Hawks At Blood Beach, but otherwise you get the picture.

Came from the sky like a 747. Classic Rock’s least-reputable byline-grabber since 2003. Several decades deep into the music industry. Got fired from an early incarnation of Anal C**t after one show. 30 years later, got fired from the New York Times after one week. Likes rock and hates everything else. Still believes in Zodiac Mindwarp and the Love Reaction, against all better judgment.