By Monk
Ladeez and Gentlegerms – they are BACK! They are glitterati’s glitterati! They are the high fashion elite’s elite! They are the influencers’ influencers! They are designers’ designers of dreams! They are The Dynamite Playboys: The Sleaze Fuhrer, The Sex Toy, The Thunder Mechanic and The Beat Commando. They are all about sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll… oh, and the candy. No, make that THE CANDY! In all it’s delicious sticky and sweet variations.
Back in 2017, Norwegian sleazebags Suicide Bombers suffered possibly one of the singular most unfortunate timings in the history of unfortunate timings when they released their third album, ‘Suicide Idols’, just days after the Manchester Arena atrocity. Two years further down the line they had dusted themselves down from that badly timed setback, proving themselves to be, possibly, THE sharpest dressed band the world had EVER seen, immaculately draped as they were in ‘Murder Couture’. Now, a further four years on, they are now pushing the kiddiewinkies out of the way and stealing every sweetie jar in the store with another slice of boob-twiddling, cock-shaking glunky gloriousness – or should that be glorious glunkiness? TBH, I don’t give a flying fuck either way… ‘cos it’s gloriously glunky and glunkily glorious in the way on Chris Damien Doll, Stevie Teaze, C Slim and Lyle Starr (no relation to Michael, I can confidently aver) can deliver.
Yes, these ‘Dynamite Playboys’ are defiantly and emphatically blowing things up, but this ain’t a case of lighting the blue touch paper and running like fuck, as these particular bombers are loitering just around the corner and basking in the joy of the resulting series of explosions, as each and every one of the ten tracks oozes lasciviousness, lechery and sexuality from every groove in a way which would have many of their more high profile contemporaries licking their sweat glands in the hope that some of its lewd mischievousness might permeate into their inanimate, hairspray-overloaded (lack of) imaginations. This is the real deal, the spunk-stained mirror into which others will stare with envy before removing their socks from down the front of their threadbare spandex and crawling back into the four-poster beds in their Beverly Hills, or even Helsinki, mansions and jerking themselves off to infectious anthem after infectious anthem.
Proving once again that the night belongs to us lovers of all things downright and deliciously sleazily sticky sweet, this is one band and one album you won’t fall ‘Out Of Love’ any time soon, and ‘You Better Believe It’ ‘cos these four hairsprayed hallions are indeed taking all of the candy and ramming it down our throats more effectively than Augustus Gloop could ever imagine! With guitars that tumble like a prostitute wrapped in silk sheets, vocals that growl and snarl like a Vegas magician’s tiger spotting the cage has been left unlocked, and drip with the venom of a coiled viper with a helpless mouse cowering before it, coupled with percussion that snaps with the crackle of a ringmaster’s whip across the back of a recalcitrant clown, each and every one of these songs is a sleaze-tastic gem that exudes sex and desire from every pore, with choruses catchier than a dose of clap in a whorehouse and vibes dirtier than a Welsh railway line, all delivered in a manner tighter than a Ballymena man’s wallet.
Special mention, however, has to be made of the epic closing track, ‘Where Time Always Goes’, a hugely introspective epic ballad clocking in at seven and a half minutes which sends tingles down the shivers on your spine and provides a suitably contrasting yet apposite and appropriate conclusive conjuncture to what has gone before.
Once again, Chris Doll and his cohorts prove that if they had been born a couple of decades earlier and a couple of thousand miles further west, it would have them strutting down the Strip in their fake leather jeans and battered cowboy boots en route to the Whiskey instead of the likes of Messrs Lawless, Rose and Sixx. As it is, they are in the here and now, and will have to settle for sweaty back street clubs of a different climate… but, hey, that’s why we’re rock ‘n’ roll junkies, right?
- ‘All For The Candy‘ is released on 2 February.
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