Boasting a lead singer whose chest- beating roars conjure the likes of Sam Kinison belting out "Wild Thing" or Rob Tyner belting out "Kick Out the Jams," the Candy Snatchers are, arguably, the reigning brutes on the NYC punk scene. Yep, these guys are concrete proof that NYC hardcore cock-rock hasn't been completely lost to aging, embittered pukes whose acts boil down to a few weak beer belches and some hoarse heroin- induced death- rattling. The Snatchers are well renowned in Naked City circles for being the baddest of the bad when it comes to performing live, and this record, in so far as possible, captures much of that live energy on record-- down to just about everything except the eye- watering body odor and sour beer stench.

The Snatchers let fly with wild rockabilly- tinged flare-ups, and slash through middle- American complacency with their simple but volatile armament of straight- razor power- chords, and defiant no- bullshit wit. In short, they're pretty damn relentless; you won't find any spoiled brat Green Day punk- ballads here.

Yep, these guys are desperate, wasted, bored, broke, uneducated, tired of their crappy day jobs, and mighty horny. 'Cause, hey, after all, it's not easy leading an idealistic hardcore punk existence in the commercial nerve center of the universe. Fortunately, they have no problem channeling all that pent-up anger. Just take a gander at the song titles, and you get the gist: "If You Can't Have Fun, You Ain't No Fun," "Hard Up," "30 Grams to Life," "Drunken Blur," "Killin' My Buzz," and "Pain in the Ass..." This is the sound of shit hitting the proverbial fan, folks.

While young millionaire entrepreneurs Rancid and Green Day continue cashing in on punk manque, the Candy Snatchers reiterate that punk rock means a helluva lot more than just well- coiffed mohawks, apocryphal sob stories of romantically bleak childhoods, expensive leather biker jackets and snotty behavior during chic Rolling Stone photo-ops.

So, if you have a hankering for the sleazy Pre-Giuliani heyday of NYC gutter- rock as much as I do, Go Kart records and the Candy Snatchers deliver the rotten goods. They give us the meaner, nastier brand of punk we've been craving ever since the Devil Dogs went yelping off into oblivion many moons ago.

-Michael Sandlin