The Fleshtones’ SUPER ROCK sound literally defines American Beat Music, and they have delivered their message with evangelistic passion, always skirting the edges of the mainstream without pandering to any obvious fad or trend. They have appeared on Dick Clark’s American Bandstand TV show charismatic frontman Peter Zaremba was a host on MTV’s original late-night alternative broadcast The Cutting Edge and they were the last band to publicly perform at the World Trade Center’s Windows on the World, a society gig by any standard. Always true to their school, they have flags planted in the old world and the new - they appeared with Andy Warhol on his short-lived talk show Andy Warhol’s Fifteen Minutes, and throughout the mid-1980s they regularly played at the Pyramid Club on Avenue A in New York’s storied East Village, and were instrumental in helping to start Wigstock, the drag queen festival that has become an outrageously vibrant part of the New York City experience. Tyson’s truth lay in a freight train of a right hook, and if he looked good for the knock-out punch, if he was a heavyweight champion with style, then so it goes for the Fleshtones, whose off-hand charm, polished nightclub act, and dance appeal did not replace primal rock’n’roll as the coin of their realm, it just inflated its value. Their records aren’t throwbacks - the Fleshtones aren’t rediscovering rock’n’roll any more than Mike Tyson was rediscovering boxing just because he had his hair cut like Joe Louis. Add to this a jangly ode to the most peerless of game show hosts, Alex Trebek, and a half dozen more songs dusted with British Invasion harmonies and touches of dirty psychedelia - including the title track, inspired by one of the greatest, unsung films of our time - all delivered with the Fleshtones’ indelible mojo, and you are holding a slab truly worthy of the SUPER ROCK championship belt. Songs like “Swinging Planet X” fulfill the promise of Bo Diddley-style outer-space blues stomp, while “Spilling Blood at the Rock’n’Roll Show” splatters happily, fueled by stinging guitars and group hollers. They brooked no false meanness, studied cynicism, arty ennui, or the lyrics of the jaded. On Face of the Screaming Werewolf, the Fleshtones remain an unstoppable force for good. The secret to the Fleshtones’ success has been never copping the sound of another era - the closest they come is an uncanny ability to look good in paisley - while barely acknowledging the times in which they live. Unlike erstwhile pioneers the Rolling Stones, they have not dialed down the tempos to compensate for osteoporosis, they have not lost anything on their fastball, and continue to throw it for strikes. Since their inception in 1976 in Queens, New York, and their sweaty, boozy gestation at legendary venues such as CBGB, Max’s Kansas City, and the storied Club 57- recently feted at the Museum of Modern Art, where their proto-video underground film “Soul City” was unspooled for art stars, glitterati, and a raft of punk rockers who managed to get past the front gate - they have perpetrated their proprietary brand of SUPER ROCK, a frenetic amalgam of garage punk and soul, punctuated by the big beat and unleashed with the spectacular show business majesty which has kept them on the road for over forty years, adored by audiences whose love for them borders on religious fervor.Īnd yet their new record, Face of the Screaming Werewolf, has charted faster than any of their previous twenty or so releases, hitting Billboard’s Top 50 in half a dozen categories including, oddly, the Top Ten of “Alternative New Artists,” which just proves, again, that SUPER ROCK shows no signs of wear and tear.įace of the Screaming Werewolf is a smash that could have dropped at any point in their epic career - it is an outburst, and a celebration of the SUPER ROCK sound. In a world where there are no more heroes, the Fleshtones walk the earth like Roman gods.
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