Picture the scene - ill in bed with an abcess that confined me to a temporary life under the duvet, I put on the stereo out of desparation, eager to find something that could kick me out of my state. Minutes later, I was out of bed, pouting to the mirror, playing air guitar so vigourously that I ripped my arm out of my socket (well, sprained it anyway), and screeching along with the first verse of Personality Crisis.
A miracle? Well, no. Simply put, the New York Dolls' debut album is the most arrogant, glamourous, rude, cheeky, snarling, potent and above all brilliant rock album ever made. This album has everything, in fact, that a perfect rock album should.
Part Rolling Stones, part Stooges, part charity shop chic, the Dolls took image and music and mashed it together so effortlessly that the whole act seemed natural. Magnificent put-downs (Looking For A Kiss, Trash), arrogance par-excellance - God, they even get their covers to sound like their own (Pills). Johansson's snarl is perfect, Thunders' riffs sound more like a finely trained aural assault unit, and Nolan's drumming thuds along giving the Dolls the best guitar-drums axis ever committed to record.
You want attitude? You got it. You want glamour? You got it. You so desparate to prove the validity of rock 'n' roll as rebellion that you want your favourite bands to cuss old women? Hell, that's there too. If rock ever became a subject at school, well, here's your Shakespeare, boys!
No weak tracks. No substitute. No excuse not to buy it. Why I say I'm in love, you best believe I'm in love L-U-V.