No sweat that this thing is telegraphed; what else could one expect, really? Chicago’s Bones have a few Chicago metal holdovers in its ranks, from Usurper (all three) to the railed BM of Nachtmystium and Kommandant, but one can’t really expect some of sort of Celtic Frost-on-psychedelic-futuristic hybrid. Rather, Bones slop it up on Sons of Sleaze (their second overall), rather admirably, keeping the songs quick, a smidge infantile, but quite enjoyable, like, a cross-shot between Autopsy and greasy thrash. Something like that.
Some of the applicable terms here would be “loose” and “chaotic,” with most of these songs probably recorded in a few takes, which is fine. Therefore, you’ll get a parade of thrash beats raining down, some chucked brutal riff-action as well, some of which ranks as pretty darn catchy, notably opener “Poisoned Breed,” “Bad Signs” and “Cold Knife.” And since there’s nary a trace of triggers, studio processing, tinkering, and trickery, the appropriate level of rawness is achieved, which of course, is very much appropriate for an album under the name of Sons of Sleaze.
Certain to land well in the morass that has become the retro death metal wasteland, Sons of Sleaze has enough charm and frothy wit to make up for its sonic and occasional musical shortcomings. Then again, it’s a welcome sight to have albums like this; you know, without pretense, dirty, uncomplicated, etc. It’s a good spot to be in if you’re Bones.