Forget the grunge scene, these psychotic femme fatale's emerged from the sleazy underbelly with this furious, demented offering off fuzzy punk, hyper rock and zombie stomp, coming across like some '60s underground garage band with more attitude than a majority of metal acts. There's alot of comedy in here, but the Lunachicks don't let up on the buzz, the drums are pounding and ruthless, the guitars a messy, flailing go-go noise and the vocals of Kogan spat venomously like some barbie-killer babe. There aren't many female bands with such attitude and any band that can sing about roasting kids, bestiality and being a sea creature has to be slightly unhinged, and yet the Lunachicks manage to put such sleaze and b-movie trash into this glorious and at times poppy-metal cauldron, mix it up and release it as green ooze.
The album has an extremely live feel, the cymbals crash to the ears, sweat drips from their flailing hair and men will be running from the exit as they bound through a series of bizarre and quirky grunge tales from 'Cookie Monster' to the scuzzy sci-fi trip of 'Octopussy. The record is one psychedelic mish-mash of female angst and cult coolness. Possibly for strange women everywhere!
7/10
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