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The Hard Lie How former Ticket host Greg Williams destroyed the most dynamic duo in Dallas talk radio through drugs, deceit and disaffection
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American Girls Crossing between American and Egyptian cultures, he Said girls made one deadly misstep: They fell in love
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The Dirt Doctor How radio show host Howard Garrett pushed Dallas to the center of the organic gardening movement through passion, principle and molasses
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The Caretaker One mother's crusade to better the life of her mentally retarded son and the system that failed him
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Our 20th Music Awards 1988-2008: Two Decades of DOMA
Blogs
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National Features >
Houston Press
The Passion of Victoria Osteen
A flight attendant's smackdown with the wife of mega-preacher Joel Osteen inspires a whole new set of commandments.
By Rich Connelly
City Pages
Your Field Guide to the RNC
Today Denver, tomorrow the Twin Cities.
By Matt Snyders and Bradley Campbell
The Pitch
Star Power
A country musician rescues Waylon Jennings' tour bus from the scrap heap.
By C.J. Janovy
Village Voice
Serrano's Second Movement
The provocateur who brought you "Piss Christ" pinches off a new concept.
By Lynn Yaeger
The Lash Outs
The Lash Outs (Zodiac Killer)
By Jesse Hughey
Published on May 08, 2008
From sneering vocals straight off Never Mind the Bollocks to the amped-up 12-bar blues progressions lifted from old Chuck Berry and Gene Vincent 45s, everything about The Lash Outs' debut album screams throwback. It would feel like a grave-digging rip-off if they didn't attack the songs with so much enthusiasm.
The disc opens with the breakneck instrumental "Chupacabra," which was a smart choice. Because, by the time Joey Holbrook' s occasionally grating nasal singing surfaces on the second song, "Set Me Back"—an uncharacteristically dull mid-tempo cokehead lament, the album's only misstep—you're already hooked. It picks up again at track three, "Dream Catcher," with red-hot retro rock lead guitar, handclaps and lines like "How many Jell-O shots does it take/For you to give a guy like me a break?" That kind of witty update on the age-old subject of the unattainable girl, one of pop music's oldest subjects, is what they do best.
Along with chicks and self-pity, another recurring subject is the sad state of rock. They gripe about empty clubs and unresponsive crowds in Deep Ellum on "The Kids Don't Wanna Dance" (hear it) and brashly close the album by calling out poseurs in skin-tight jeans and Clear Channel radio listeners with "Requiem for Rock and Roll." They may be right when they sing, "Heartbreak, love-make, tears and beers/We sing the same tired song for 50-something years." But if more bands put out albums this lively, there'd be no need to call the mortician.
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