�EVIL RATS ON NO STAR LIVE�
(11-TRACK DEBUT LP)
Saw Remote Control (with London�s lewdest Dirty Harry) and they�ve certainly got the image aspect down to the ground, but back then I said they suffered from lacks in melody. Hand up, I�m knelt on the ground � guilty of selling them and their work short, as the more you listen to �Evil Rats On No Star Live� in quick-witted succession, the more you get the feel for their Glam-rock slant. Heavily into sampling, technically akin to Scarlet Soho�s even darker Glam, �Paradise Syndrome� is a perfect opener to confirm they�re not a traditionally Glam-rock band, a swelly strummed acoustic guitar quarrelling with glitzy synths to create a timeless, 80�s sounding Electro-pop track, �The Electric Kind� hardly following suit with a chunkier beat, before �Superstar� has Rachel Stamp genius smothered inside and out. Frail�s more anthemic, as Suede-followers get a look in with Fashion Police�s �Oh yeahs.� Metal Machine�s Glam-rock like T Rex and other 70�s bands drugged it, but � along with �1969� & �Starfucker� � is way, way less catchy or outstanding. And that�s when Remote Control�s problems understandably begin. But soon end� as �Aliens� (�You�ve got a lover, but you don�t know�) makes up for everything with its truly awesome, LP-kidnapping melody, paving-momentum for the equally instantly-loveable cool rock of �Electrified� & �Velveteen� (�You see through eyes that cannot cry�), vocalist/ guitarist Ben John sounding more Type O Negative crack-licking - in his not-so-innocently pleading �Won�t you love me?� climax - than fellow Vex, Thugs and Cock �n� Mold-cuddling Glam-rockers. (Their self-penned dictionary definition of �Remote Control� reads, �A popular �beat� combo from the early part of the century, whose �glam rock� music consisted of a combination of narcotics and cosmetics�). Having toured with white-hot property King Adora in the past, they�re utterly obsessed with those 4 Birmingham boys (that�s plain to see). Lyrics like �The fake lover on your record machine/ Slow hand, Vaseline� Strapped in leather, and she�s still at school,� �You crave the feel of dust on skin, you need the thrill of teenage sin� & �A teenage infatuation, through the scars and lacerations� may at-face-value speak volumes about where they�d ideally be coming from� but, �Starfucker� predominantly aside, disgruntled political agendas help in ruffling the �Modern life is shit� reality: �The city sleeps, you�re feeling cheated; England�s sick � let�s hope they treat it.� Signed to �the home of Sack Trick,� ORG Records, and lapping-up attention in the capital, this debut LP professionally looks the in-thing (full-colour booklet with lyrics, lashed with a city-painted red), they don�t go hell-for-leather for loudness, but are lewder than Rachel Stamp and clan, gagging for sex with teenage girls as though the abhorred act of pedophilia�s to never apply to them because these 4 are rock stars no less - with a penchant to think about �the deed� not every 6 seconds, but every 3. And that�s if the females of this country are disreputably lucky. Nice �n� sleazy�s done it again. Truly excellent stuff, �Aliens� is one unforgettable anthem if ever Glammer models musically strutted one. (STEVE RUDD)
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