Before explaining why you'll never have a need for this album, I must admit that I initially thought the Gaza Strippers had a wonderfully trashy, if slightly blasphemous name. But, as with any number of bands that have ever landed on the Cali-based pop-punk Lookout! imprint-- Bratmobile or the Winona Riders, for instance-- the cleverness wore off five minutes later. Perhaps these bands are too busy attempting irreverence to realize how fleeting the pun is. This couldn't be more fitting, though: the enjoyment derived from 1000 Watt Confessions is equally evanescent.

Back in the '80s, Strippers frontman Rick Sims perfected ironic punk-n-roll as the leader of the Touch and Go staple, the Didjits. After they disbanded in 1994, Sims showed up with his guitar on the Supersuckers' The Sacrilicious Sounds of the Supersuckers and Fred Schneider's embarrassingly critically acclaimed Just Fred. (Ouch!). Not surprisingly, this latter contribution gave Sims the confidence he needed to make some new music of his own, so he formed the Gaza Strippers.

But his inspiration must have ended there. Adding another chapter to Sims' musical devolution, the Strippers's second album travels back in time to the '70s, bringing pop-punk tendencies with it. All the worst aspects of glam rock and sleazy punk are here: misogyny, dueling guitars, car odes, punctuating woo's and yeah's, neverending conclusions, and, of course, the obligatory solos, in all their interminable, cheesy glory. Some tracks, such as "Catfight" and "Jesse Wayne," favor a heavy Stooges and New York Dolls influence. Others are slightly more melodic, which suggests Sims enjoys some Cheap Trick now and again. But the most blatant violations are Alice Cooper or Kiss ripoffs like "Injected" and "Sex and the Drifter," respectively, or the "Brown Sugar"-esque conjoined vocals of "Get 'Em Down."

The lyrics are just as original and insightful. A brief sampling, for the sake of economy: "I got you runnin' through my veins" ("Outtasight"); "My car is silver and gold" ("My Car Is"); "Na na na" ("Get 'Em Down"); "Be careful what you pray for/ You might get it" ("Catfight"); "Why did you... treat me bad/ Like a son of a bitch, I been had/ I'm a cock... sucker for your moves" ("Sex and the Drifter"); "Satisfied sensation/ Masturbation generation/ As long as it feels good, yeah" ("As Long as It Feels Good"). Who knows? Maybe these lines are inspirational in a live setting. But on record, they're laughable.

There are exactly three worthwhile moments on this album: the jangly interlude of "Juvenile Detention"; the melodic/barking call-and-response chorus of "Newburgh Housewives"; and the inflection of Sims' voice on "Swan," particularly when he sings the line, "And cryin' ooo like a dog." But even with these few acceptable tracks, every listen renders the Strippers more derivative, shallow and forgettable. The one-liner that would have sufficed as a review: 1000 Watt Confessions strives for '70s rock kitsch, but instead is unforgivably clichéd.

In a recent interview, Sims said, "You can compare us to Kiss and the New York Dolls for our attack, but we're way more fucked up." More fucked up than blood-spitters in makeup or a bunch of cross-dressing drug addicts? Dream on, Rick. Dream until your dreams come true. Any singer can yell, "Thank you, motherfuckers," after every song-- as Sims often does in concert-- but irreverence is hollow without talent. This is why you, dear reader, will never choose 1000 Watt Confessions over, say, Fun House or Too Much, Too Soon. I trust you. For doing so would be like buying illicit Ritalin when you've already got an 8-ball on the mirror.

-Ryan Kearney