Brass Knuckle Evangelists

There are places all over the world where people much cooler than me — people who accessorize with ascots and fedoras instead of a beard — are having a Devil approved good time. They’re sippin’ bourbon and throwin’ dice in smoky rooms filled with ebony beauties and slick-grinned denizens. New York’s Brass Knuckle Evangelists play rooms just like these every night of their life, whether they’ve actually got a gig or not, and their woozy rock ‘n blooze is the midnight match for mischief’s fantastic fire. No Sin No Soul, the band’s debut five-song EP, oozes organ-fried righteousness and pulpit bravado, but the preachy Memphis soul of “Good Time (Ain’t No Crime),” “You’re The Devil,” “Work Me,” and “Up All Nite” are infused with a greasy, burnin’ rubber punch, no coincidence given the band’s sleaze rock roots (ex-members of Joker Five Speed). The EP’s final selection, a cover of Don Nix’s “Goin’ Down,” offers a gritty, city take on the well-traveled song also covered by such legends as Jeff Beck, Deep Purple, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Joe Satriani, and Gov’t Mule. No Sin No Soul ought to put an ultra-shine on your alligator shoes, especially if you’re into Beasts of Bourbon, The BellRays, The Booze, Chinatown, Diamond Dogs, The Dirtbombs, Izzy Stradlin’, or The Jim Jones Revue. I hope New York City is big enough for two goddamn savvy bands because Brass Knuckle Evangelists are giving The Compulsions some funky company.

Listen to “Good Time (Ain’t No Crime)” from No Sin No Soul!

Follow Brass Knuckle Evangelists here and here!

The Nuclears

Sometimes you come across a band too big for their platform boots, a gang of cigarette suckers with stars for eyes who’ll turn any storage closet in any bar into their own personal dressing room. The singer’s got a $150 scarf wrapped around his neck even though he looks like he can’t afford to eat. He’s all ribs, eyeliner, and petulant posturing while his band plays the dutiful, leather-jacketed longhairs, masters of their bloozy craft. The Nuclears are that band. Or they fucking sound like it, anyway. And while there’s no doubt that this New York-by-way-of-Washington band’s sound drips with elements of a champagne n’ limousine glam rock, it’s the raw power and punk rock attitude that really propels this self-titled debut, making it a drunken, desperate mess of rock n’ roll energy. Flat out, this album sizzles the second it drops, it’s first half a shakin’ jukebox of ragged riffs and shout-along glory; there’s not a song amongst “Pay Yer Dues,” “Get Me Outta Here,” “A Blindfold & A Cigarette,” “Get Up!,” and “Tanzen Macht Frei” that hasn’t been touched by a handful of essentially influential bands like The Ramones, The Stooges, early Aerosmith, and Hanoi Rocks. Now, the train could’ve kept a-rollin’ right along and everything would’ve been super fine, but the album’s second half goes off the tracks a bit thanks to a grouping of songs whose styles and sounds are all over the map. There’s not a bad song in the bunch, per se, but they don’t deliver the same flow and punch as the first-half songs; the near seven minute “Eclipso” has shades of Black Sabbath (particularly “Children of the Grave”) running throughout, “Fast Cars & Loud Guitars” and “Rock & Roll Riot” (both of which would’ve been totally at home on the first half) are gutter rock numbers that do The Dictators proud, “Turn On You” is an organ-fried gospel/soul song, and “You Can Make It” brings the Rolling Stones’ country n’ blues to life. Listen, all that second-half confusion aside, there’s something endearingly blue about The Nuclears, like a well-earned thigh bruise, and even though they’re not entirely new to the scene (ex-Drag Citizen singer Nick Vivid has some miles under him), they’re on the cusp of stumbling into a whole heap of hot action. And when that happens, brother, we’re gonna be dealing with one confident, bad-ass, braggadocios bunch.

Listen to “Get Me Outta Here” from The Nuclears!

The Booze
At Maximum Volume

With At Maximum Volume, their fourth album in the last five years, The Booze have laid down a bold declaration and appear intent on upping the ante on their easy beats, on re-inventing the cool that they re-birthed just last year. Okay, this one’s not really any louder than the ones that came before it, but the devil’s in the details, baby, and this Atlanta quintet of tight pants throw so much woozy in their bloozy that their rubber-legged approach to ripping off the Stones will force you to take a vacation from your sobriety. Stepping straight out of London’s shaggy-haired mod scene, The Booze play as smooth as ice, but take the traditional R&B/pop flavour of that era and smother it in despair and heartbreak, a down-on-your-luck sound that draws just as much from Thunders’ New York gutter rock of the 70s-80s as it does from the swank hip shake of Britain’s swingin’ 60s. Ultimately, though, The Booze are a pantheon to Mick and Keef, shining like Diamond Dogs, keen and mean with a Detroit lean, spruced up for a night out, even if it ends in tears.

Listen to “Kick Me Where It Hurts” from At Maximum Volume!

The Brought Low
Third Record

It’s a rare and celebratory day when a new Brought Low album drops, so stop whatever it is you’re doing, dust off the ol’ beard, summon the buzzards, and grab a pint of glory. The obviously named Third Record is just that, and only in the last ten years, too. Christ, it’s like these fuckers live looser than a goose the day after Thanksgiving, only stumbling out of their Dudeist rock haze once every four or five years to lay a big, bad-ass, bloozy rock record on us. You’ve got to have a whole heap of respect for a band who rocks on THEIR terms, the same way you envy a fat cat sleeping in the sun on a dusty Sunday afternoon. Fuck, you say, I wish I could live/rock like that.

The Brought Low could easily be the undisputed Glam Boogie Kings of New York City if they wanted to be, but in a place where you’ve got to be seen to be somebody, there ain’t too many bright lights shining on the chicken coop of the slow roll. Their riffs flow like molasses, but glitter like stardust, and songs like “Everybody Loves a Whore” and “The Kelly Rose” drop out of the sky like thunder and lightning while others like “A Thousand Miles Away” and “Last Man Alive” float effortlessly on by like clouds in a prairie sky. I don’t know what these boys have been doing with all that time between albums, but they sure as shit haven’t been messing with their tired and true formula of Skynyrd n’ Stones riff n’ roll, of Crowes n’ Cactus rock n’ soul, that’s for damn sure. Internationally speaking, I’d compare them to Canada’s Lions in the Street or England’s The Thieves, but The Brought Low are an all-out, blue collar slice of Americana pleasure pie, and Third Record should fill you up for the next four or five years. I mean, it’s gonna have to, right?

Listen to “The Kelly Rose” from Third Record!

Buy Third Record from Small Stone (when it comes out in May)!