The Black Velvets ‘The Black Velvets’ (Vertigo)

Can Glam Rock ever become popular again? In the real world I mean, obviously in the crazy old US of A it always has been and probably always will be. The word ‘naff’ has no meaning for them. For the Brits, however, all the camp pouting androgyny, the lipstick smothered, back combed, lycra clad misogyny and ‘carry on camping’ innuendo means this genre is almost solely the preserve of victims, losers and repressed homosexuals (OK I just made that up, but let’s face it what are they gonna do? Beat me up? Squirt Silvikrin in my eyes?). Pity really, because at the top of the glam rock range there are some damn good tunes. In amongst the oceans of total and utter shite.

I saw The Black Velvets last year and there was not a peroxide poodle perm, leopard skin jockstrap or poxy bandana to be seen. Listen to this album, though, and you will be left in no doubt that this band is as glam rock as Gene Simmonds’ tongue or Tommy Lee’s titty cam. Top of the range mind you, they’ve got some cracking tunes. There is a certain swagger to the sounds. It is sleazy and perhaps a little cheesy, but it is pretty much back to back anthems right from the off. The album is packed with rousing riffs and catchy choruses, with a fine line in Jack Daniels and Marlboro ravaged gravely vocals and just the right amount of distortion and feedback on the guitars.

So if the unthinkable does happen and the UK glam rock revival hits the streets any time soon, believe that the Black Velvets will be at the forefront, strutting their stuff, stamping their feet and chanting ‘3-3-4-5 come on and enjoy the ri-ey-ai-ide’. And if it don’t, I’m sure there are legions of spandex clad septics waiting to lap them up over the other side of Atlantic.

words: Harry Harris

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