From The Heart Attacks to Poison Arrows to Biters, the long road of rock n’ roll glory for singer/guitarist Tuk has been littered with trashy riffs, drug problems, and dead ends. The usual suicide story that sticks to every tight-pant Thunders junkie like a safety pin on a worn out leather jacket lands a lot closer to sad than success, but if the stigma doesn’t kill ya, it can only make you stronger, right? Probably, which is why Tuk hopes his latest bubblegum machine, Biters, will break through the bastard cliches and avoid the inevitable burst that comes when you sink your teeth into the cheap, sticky solution of reckless days and wasted nights. Whether that happens remains to be seen, but for now our springboard is this self-titled EP, and goddamn it if it’s not screamin’ at me like a gaggle of teenage groupies. With the five deliciously catchy glam punk ditties on board here, I don’t know how the Biters are ever going to avoid burnin’ out in the gutter like a bunch of high school dropouts. This is some magic marker mayhem, man, part Cheap Trick power pop, part New York Dolls lipstick rock, and all jukebox jive. If the Biters aren’t the biggest band in the world real soon, we’re all doomed.
The Dangerous Aces …Deny All Responsibility
Self-Released
I’ve got a gonzo rock journo friend over in Merry ‘Ol who I wrote with for many years when we were both stalwarts of Sleazegrinder’s legendary jive cotillion. We spent a lot of time in the trenches together doing our part for the Super Rock Revolution. His name is “Medicine” Stu Gibson and he’s the finest, marbled-mouthed, mutton-chopped, pub crawling, rabble rousing psycho cowboy you’ll ever have the fortune of reading. His lust for loose-lipped loquaciousness knows no limits and is matched only by his love for late-night libations, which no doubt leaks into the lackadaisical lyrics of his lordly lamentations. You have to read him to get him, and even then you still might not get him, but that’s okay because Medicine Stu can play a git’ just as well as he can stroke a pen. He’s not afraid to put his pounds where his pucker is, and as such is best known as the soused singer and axe slinger for country punk heroes The Medicine Bow. But when the Bow breaks, the cradle must continue to rock, so Medicine Stu is gutter-bound with his guitar to find stardom among the sewer rats with a rag-tag racket of Manchester mayhem, The Dangerous Aces.
Yeah yeah, mama. Now you could hit the sheets or the streets, it don’t make me no never mind. Now that’s your bag baby, you can go, or you could come. Can you dig it?
After Tarantino and Rodriguez gave us the Grindhouse double feature Planet Terror and Death Proof in 2007, I thought for sure there’d be a whole rash of late-night, back-room splatter n’ ass flicks saturating the screens, but no one else really hopped on that ol’ time B movie midnight train, which is a shame really, because they are some of the most fun you’ll ever have at the movies. However, blaxploitation films have seen their share of attention ever since their glory days in the 70s, mostly as spoofs, and Michael Jai White, Byron Minns, and Scott Sanders have stepped up to the throwback plate and penned one of the best in recent years. I’m talking about the delicious, ridiculous, outta sight, boogie lovin’, bad-ass blaxploitation gem Black Dynamite!
Biters
The Dangerous Aces
Yeah yeah, mama. Now you could hit the sheets or the streets, it don’t make me no never mind. Now that’s your bag baby, you can go, or you could come. Can you dig it?