Truth be told, the 1960's were a good time for many reasons: the kids rebelled politically, the kids rebelled socially; they fought and they fucked. But somehow the social aspect took over the political, and forward motion decayed into a meaningless display of hedonism. From there, all it took was one decade of Reagan and Bush to set us right back where we started: divided, oppressed, depressed, and repressed. And it's precisely these developments that allow the urgent sexual energy of the French Kicks to come through so clearly and so necessarily right now.

The French Kicks owe their sound to the Rolling Stones and to Jonathan Fire*Eater. They'll likely admit to that, and there's nothing to be ashamed of, because they sound as raw and as filled with primal desire as either of their influences. Appropriately, drummer Nick Stumpf comes from the caveman school of drumming-- he plays simple beats, and pummels the shit out of his kit. Feeling the call of the wild, Jamie Krents throws down the slow and low bass groove (and it is a groove). The duo forms the foundation on which Josh Wise and Matthew Stinchcomb whip out their raunchy-ass guitars, dueling like incensed rivals.

Perhaps most importantly, the French Kicks guys are one of the few existing bands who can say that they have not one, not two, but three vocalists, often all harmonizing at the same time. The band comes across as one enamored of the spirit of punk rock, but that finds a similar infatuation with the presence of pop's best showmen. Sure, these guys are a throwback. They certainly aren't groundbreaking. But their love for the rebellion that was once inherent in rock music comes through loud and clear. The long-absent bite has been reinserted into the music, and that's worth a lot in my book.

-Andrew Goldman