Rock and roll was always seen as a young bucks game before a mortgage and noose locked around the neck and platform shoes and hairy chests were swopped for slippers and pipe. The 50-70's discourse; you'll settle down soon.
Thank Lucifer some people rip up the rule book.
The Dolls have the swagger of punk Rolling Stones, more bar chord thrash than blues nit pickings whilst David curls his tongue around the come ons. Tottering on their big stacks, Marlboro perched on the lip an gin bottle on the hip, the Dolls breathed a New York brashness and exuded a strutting rock and roll party. Swallowing bennies, screaming out the angst, the Dolls paraded trash before it became class.
This album balances neatly with the previous releases when they were studiously ignored. Wearing their hearts on their sleeves their cod pieces on full display the Dolls tease those guitar shapes out of lives crawling in the gutter dressed in fishnets, stilletoes and bright red lipstick. The tawdry lives of those who have given the pay check the finger and dreaming of the bigger things of blasting down the highway or at least thumbing a lift.
Fits in with the pre punk blasts of the 70's seguing straight into the 21st century as still relevant to the times and places.
The door to the Glam world has ever faded it just needs a good polish on the knob