It’s nigh on two decades since The Supersuckers swung into our rear view. They’ve roared past on the highway of life a good few times and it’s always a blast to catch up with ’em. What this band indulges us in are the flavours of the most timeless rock’n’roll from the past, the present and what would ideally be the future. Fads will come and go and while the conventional music biz hurtles into oblivion, The Supersuckers will be screaming on down some backroad or another, heading for another show where they’ll deliver full-on thrills for that hour or so that they’re on stage. Leaving an afterburn in the soul as well as a ringing in the ears, providing a distraction to the bullshit we have to contend with in everyday life. This is the kind of music that can change lives. Your parents might use the word ruin but that’s somewhat over egging the pudding. In full flight, there are few that can match these guys. There’s no between song noodling, they cut to the chase and deliver the maximum entertainment possible. It’s never lumpy or leaden and that’s why they’ve become something of an institution. Think of them as being something like Motorhead or The Ramones with a side of Waylon. They don’t necessarily sound like any of ’em but somewhere on the horizon they’ve mixed that big rock sound with just the right measure of country to create something that is familiar but also like no other sound on earth. The singers name might be spaghetti but we ain’t talking meatballs here. It’s a pretty fair guess that you’re not coming to this party cold. If indeed you are, and this is your introduction to the band then I oughtta warn you. Watching the contents of the enclosed disc will perhaps bring on symptoms of sweating. You may get the urge to pilfer your parents credit card and head for where the band is headed for. This is all perfectly normal behaviour in light of being exposed to something this pure, something this strong. The Supersuckers are something that you can never build up a resistance to. People with cast iron constitutions have tried and subsequently failed. Some of them just plain disappeared. There’s no medicine that’ll curb the itch so you might as well get used to it. Somewhere up there, or maybe down yonder, who knows – Phil Lynott is smiling. He can see that the fire he started is still burning. When these Tucson boys moved to the Pacific Northwest, the die was cast. The message then was Rock Your Ass and it has never faltered since. I’ve heard tell you can even get a Supersuckers ringtone for that mobile tracking device some of you folks carry all about the place. It’s a funny old world right enough. But somewhere, when you pop this into your player, the band will be preaching their patented brand of fire and brimstone with all the trimmings to some fully expectant congregation. Evil powers? Nah, more like good/bad. Like I mentioned back there someplace – the way it was, is and always shall be. Amen then M-U-D heads everywhere. Hit the fridge and sit down or bounce off the walls. It’s your call. Lindsay Hutton