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Brides of Destruction | Here Come The Brides | review | rock | Lollipop

Brides of Destruction

Here Come The Brides (Sanctuary)
by Martin Popoff

Brides of Destruction is the closest thing we're gonna see in terms of a major label new hard rock band made by old guys, save for uncomfortably similar doppelganger Velvet Revolver, that is. What's more, it's a minor hair band supergroup, Nikki Sixx and Tracii Guns calling on a slick session drummer and a flamboyant hair dresser to complete their ragtag team. So all that's going to cause conflicting emotions, the worst of which is the idea that there's a damper on the thing cuz rock 'n' roll is a young man's game. But the Brides fight back, offering a canny, self-aware but spirited punk-fueled mayhem (and oddly, a spot of John Corabi Beatle melodies - Corabi was a potential Bride), a sound that, once deep in, develops shimmer and shade, at the behest of London LeGrand's vocal soul and velvet versatility. But it's the bashing rock that is more, or most credible, Nikki having provided that (abstract) nihilism in Mötley, and moreso, Tracii having provided that (concrete) barbed-wire chording in L.A. Guns. Seriously, I picture Tracii shoveling coal into the furnace of the steam train and Nikki laughing maniacally when he should be working the controls. Coogan does his bit, and then London, like I say, surprises you on the mellower tracks, which, imbued with de rigeur radio murk, could be potential hit singles.
(www.sanctuaryrecordsgroup.com)
 


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