Bed Wettin’ Bad Boys

Though I’ve always balked at the name, Aussies Bed Wettin’ Bad Boys have consistently thrown down a good dose of sore-throated rock n’ roll. They pull from the wave that saw alt-rock rippers rise, riding into major label stardom and branching into either infamy or obscurity at the whims of a nation of radio listeners. For their part, the band leans harder towards infamy on Rot, dredging up more than a few leathered licks from the traditions of The Replacements, Hüsker Dü and Volcano Suns. The Boys know a good riff when they find one, but they’re ready to dive past hooks and into a muddier tangle of rock than most of their peers. And while they may share Joe Sukit with labelmates Royal Headache, they’ve buried his trademarked howl under a tar thick swipe of grunge.

The album’s scraped and scarred, rolled in beer and not a small amount of mischief for a night out. Though that makes them sound like teenagers on a bender, it’s more along the lines of college lads bored and wandering town, looking for the matchlight of fun that winds up the fodder for eternal stories. They succeed in capturing the kind of loose boredom that inhabits youth, the restless heart and shaggy demeanor that’s not quite come of age, but tryin.’ Rot is decidedly classic in its approach, swerving some of the current slacker trends and jangled impressions flittering through the Aussie underground. For their part they’ve gone in looking to create something that sounds like it already belongs to a gilded age of passed down classics and succeeded quite handily.




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