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Ratt - Infestation

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 May 19 2010 at 06:56:19 AM



Cannot be exterminated. Ratt’s last decent record, Invasion of Your Privacy, was tracked amongst ear cuffs and Spuds McKenzie zeitgeist. Guitarist Robbin Crosby was still alive; vocalist Stephen Pearcy didn’t yet resemble Skeletor, and post-metal was but a twinkle in Aaron Turner’s eye. Invasion… wasn’t half the record its predecessor Out of the Cellar was, but critics and fans alike toked up on Crosby’s shuck-‘n’-jive Blues licks, donned the Hypercolor tees and immersed themselves in the throes of bona fides pole-dancin’ pop at least until a stubby Brit in pinstripes and Chuck T’s slurred “Sussudio.”

Queue embarrassing in-fighting and all other made-for-VH1 trappings for over two decades+. Remove bassist Juan Croucier—who’s wasting his time producing other hair farmers and diddling strings in his spectacularly named band, Liquid Sunday—and the aforementioned Crosby—unspectacularly named COD, Dirty Needles. Add Quiet Rioter Carlos “Battle Axe” Cavazo. Robbie Crane replaces Sunday boozer Croucier. Warren DeMartini (great surname), Bobby Blotzer (porn name), and the inimitable Stephen “Dorian Gray” Pearcy return for (yet) another tour of duty.

Infestation features 11 tracks of up-tempo, guitar heavy rock in the tradition of Cellar and Invasion, but more assertive, accomplished. Lyrical content is thankfully no less cartoonish, mostly riffs on dramatic weekend expectations, bubblegum fetishes, preening prick-teases in neon midriffs and roller-blades. Always liked DeMartini’s playing, but Cavazo’s muscle really pushes the guy not to rely so much on incessant wardrobe changes and shimmering mineral make-up. Blotzer, ostensibly out from under producer thumbs, steps out of an enforced “colorist” role and hammers away like a young Herman Rarebell.

Pearcy’s trademark Snake Plissken sneer vox render “bedroom patois,” like, “She’s the devil / But I like that ass” with unmatched panache (no shit). Forget the preserved-in-amber argumenta; the guy’s aged 10-fold. It’s his six-ton stones that’ve kept him perpetually in Sunset Boulevard club corners, swapping spit with future Suicide Girls while some coked-up DJ plagues the air with J Dilla/Jose Feliciano mashup. David Lee Roth operates under perpetual delusion he can get away with lines like, “I forgot your name the first day that we met / Watching you devour that lollipop,” but no amount of hair plugs ‘n’ Levitra can get him to the top of that mountain.

Always thought somewhere up there, bathed in smog, lazily circled by nearly extinct birds, is Platonic form of “a Ratt song;” its substance more or less the non-material abstract that empowers songs like “Last Call” and “Best of Me.” Verse/chorus/verse respectively the what-it-is-to-be Ratt, tanned, aging sleaze pelted nightly with vintage Frederick’s of Hollywood lingerie (even in 2010, yes), working on mere minutes sleep and equal parts ginseng and French vodka. The band’s sound still as aspatial and atemporal as it ever was, and Infestation serves the poppy miracle of its blueprint of perfection (no shit).

[Stewart Voegtlin]

Ratt
Infestation
Roadrunner
2010
type: reviews    keywords: rock, no shit, lhp038, ratt, skeletor, spuds mckenzie,   

Comments (4)

  • 67 comments
    chauncey chomperz
    8:55 AM on May 19, 2010 // reply »
    well played!
  • 10 comments
    Grk!
    3:33 PM on May 19, 2010 // reply »
    That's Trey Azagthoth, surely?
  • 1 comment
    Foeglitarian
    10:45 AM on May 20, 2010 // reply »
    How long until they change their name to cockroach?
  • 3 comments
    CW
    7:58 AM on May 24, 2010 // reply »
    Now you said that i cant unsee it
 

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