With commendable attention to detail The Boss Mustangs’ first collection of stormin’ stompin’ garage grooves comes packaged in an enigmatic retro sleeve design featuring a naked ginger-haired woman wrapped in the stars and stripes, standing in the grounds of what is probably a trailer park. Topped off with period LP-style lettering and a photo of the band looking like The Seeds (circa ’66), the effect is immediate red alert: don’t expect easy listening. The ensuing sonic assault is well judged. Breakneck-paced fuzzed-up guitars, pounding rhythm section and distorted vocals combine as the vehicle for some of the most in-your-face razor-edged, raw-arsed rock and roll you’ve heard in many a long year; certainly since the MC5, and maybe not even then.
There was a brief period a couple of years back when the Von Bondies, Bellrays, D12 and others promised the return of Nuggets-style visceral punk R&B, but which for the most part fell flat on its faint-hearted face. Certainly the product of that brief interlude can’t be confused with what we have here. This is just way too down and dirty, an album with rare integrity that really does smack you in the guts. Breathlessness and zealous commitment are sustained so effortlessly throughout its ten tracks it’s neither easy nor even pertinent to try and nominate standouts, but if sample you must then have a shot at ‘Dead Society’ or ‘If Your Baby Was My Boss’; ‘White Rose’ has a great solo you’d be a fool to miss out on. But really the whole thing is what you want on repeat to make your flagging Christmas party come alive and roar.