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Afterpartees: Glitter Lizard

Admittedly, they don’t look like much, but Afterpartees are one of the best rock’n’roll bands in operation today. They’re from the Netherlands, but you’d swear you saw ’em slumming it down in St Mark’s Place on a steamy summer night 35 years ago. They just ooze late-70s New York cool.

Their sound is glammy power-pop on shaky, lost-weekend legs, like the Rolling Stones and Generation X and maybe Richard Hell and the Voidoids were the only bands that existed before these guys showed up. Every song on Glitter Lizard is an uppercut, but Power Animal stands out as the real rabble-rouser of the bunch, a bubble-glam cruncher that builds into fist-pumping arena rock by the time you hit the chorus.

There’s also a great smoky slow-jammer (Stuck On The Night Shift) that glides with effortless junkie cool, several references to bathroom-stall sex and two songs about how they kinda hate Oasis. All killer, no filler. I wish they had cool shoes, but you can’t have everything. (⁸⁄₁₀)

Thunder & Blitzkrieg: Broke Wild And Free

These flash rockers from the wilds of Munich have a lighter touch than usual for this kinda thing, like The Sweet taking on Highway To Hell. The goofy glam of Torpedo Lover is a highlight, as is the snarly anthem Die For Rock’n’Roll. I coulda used more blitzkrieg, to be honest, but not bad for Germans who still like Kiss records. (⁶⁄₁₀)

Beggars On Highway: Onion Eaters

These sour-breathed Italian sleaze-dealers lay down a pretty standard Crüe/Faster Pussycat retro glam-boogie grind, but the raw, punky vox give ’em a nice street-brawling edge, and I’m so enthralled by all the crooked language at work here that I almost don’t even care what they sound like, I just want to know what Slug Trip or Fuck The Vegs means. (⁷⁄₁₀)

Lou Siffer And The Howling Demons: At Your Service

Listen, they have a song called Coughin’ In My Coffin. How can you resist? Lou and the fellas are a bunch of tattooed Swedes laying down a fiery squall of high-octane action rock in the vein of Gluecifer, Hardcore Superstar, Backyard Babies, etc. Cool jams for skinny motherfuckers who smoke their cigarettes with style. (⁷⁄₁₀)

Playboy Manbaby: Electric Babyman

Completely unglued rock’n’roll mayhem from Phoenix. Opens with a song called Moldy Cannoli, which sounds like a bunch of assholes ruining somebody’s wedding, and things just escalate from there. Bleating trumpets, strutting 70s snot-rock guitars, a singer who sounds like he pisses in bottles and whips them at moving cars… Plus, you can dance to it. (⁷⁄₁₀)/o:p

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.