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THE LITTLE KILLERS
(Crypt)
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Crypt Records could’ve skated on its big pile of I-was-a-’60s-teenage-sloppabilly reissues forever, but it was so impressed with this trio of young and passably good-looking Noo Yawk trash-and-rollers that it dusted off the till and jumped head-first into the 21st century. Given the label’s track record (Lyres, Gories, Oblivians, Pagans, Teengenerate, New Bomb Turks), there must be something bigger here than merely a Cramps-, New York Dolls–, and Hasil Adkins–inspired Gotham City garage-rock band, right? Well, that’s the beauty of it — there really isn’t. Okay, so two of the tracks verge on novelties, but apart from that, this one’s a gimmick-free, no-frills grindfest of lo-fi amusements — the kind of slightly diabolical, casually sleazy stuff your Satanic hog mechanic would sandwich between Johnny Cash and Pussy Galore on a long-lost off-the-wagon weekend. Slurry rants about no-good chicks like "Jenna Lee" and "Messin’ Around" are set to jagged Johnny Thunders licks and wailing, Stonesy honky-skronk; "Pucker Up" finds the band as sloppy as a drunk’s kiss but just coherent enough to fool a cop. They’ll be overrated in a month, but for the next five minutes, consider yourself privy to the greatest obscure American garage-rock band this side of the Mummies.
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