Fueled with the same octane as Motorhead, New York City’s Turbo
A.C.’s have apparently struck the same deal with the devil as Lemmy
and his mates with the hammering attitude and pointed messages
delivered on
Avenue X, the band’s fifth full-length album.
While the Turbo A.C.’s have a very distinctive surf-punk, guitar
drive found in their music — think Dick Dale for a minute — they
easily hearken memories with their delivery of punk messages in
anthem-like, rallying-cry fashion similar to British punk bands
like the Clash.
Avenue X is an album simple in its mission and with little
deviation in attempting to do much more than shooting for the
jugular, wrenching it a bit, and yielding a series of chorus filled
ohhhh’s and yeahhhh’s.
And it’s for this reason I usually hate to do reviews on
single-geared adrenaline rushes. For sure, I identify with the
music, but the music usually hits me like a groin shot. That is, it
leaves me rather breathless and at a loss for words. Of course,
Avenue X is more than frat-boy rock as the album aptly
careens in the direction of certain fiendish, drunken debauchery
scenes. Of course we are talking here about the hellraisers with
whom the girls have gone home long ago.
Whether it’s the roller coaster ride of guitar sounds and
whiplash drumbeats found on “Knifefight” or the outlaw vibe the
guitar tuning of “Fistful Of Fury” delivers, I have to say that
it’s these two tracks that most easily grab my attention. Lead
vocalist Kevin Cole actually splits the lyrics in “Fistful of Fury”
between the English and Spanish languages as he plays the narrative
gestapo role to the song’s storyline. Make no mistake, this fistful
of fury sounds very reminiscent of a border crossing gone bad.
Notably rare for a punk album,
Avenue X steers clear of any noticeable political
commentary. Most of the songs rely on topics spurring the wagging
of middle fingers which in a way is refreshing. It’s actually more
fun to watch poseurs like Green Day continually make jackasses of
themselves as they fool many with their perceived lyrical anguish.
Call it an east coast/west coast thing but as with most New York
punk scenesters, the Turbo A.C.s legitimize their punk output in
ways that most of their Blink-182-styled California-based brethren
fail as they contrive cheeky imagery in equal step with their
lyrical message.
That’s not to say that punk has to always rely on serious
topics, but the Turbo A.C.’s, at the end of the day, make sure that
Avenue X is the path best traveled.
