've been thinking. I have a lot of questions. Should we validate the existence of a band merely because they strive to do something different? If so, why aren't Whitehouse and Andrew WK lauded rather than lashed with critical and public spittle? And should we love The Warlocks for deep sea diving in the Ocean of LSD and their unashamedly amateurish take on Spacemen 3? Would we prefer them if they over-produced their second album and smoothed all the rough edges? Should it be praised for its organic, as opposed to synthetic, stance? I'm not sure. I'm still thinking.


Okay, more questions: Is this another retro-rock album for people who can't be bothered to roll back the generations and buy the Velvet Underground back catalogue? And wouldn't it be funny if today's bands said: "Man, the stuff we play is dog shit compared to The Sonics and Jesus and Mary Chain? Why don't you go out and buy that stuff instead of listening our lame-arsed wank, you fucking morons? Don't you know anything about your musical heritage”? Strange how increasing age confers a slowly descending barrier on the present. Everything is too contemporary. Why should the new make immediate and urgent demands on our attention? A year's embargo on new music, as some bloke suggested once (might have been a member of Black Box Recorder), is to me an appealing idea. Perhaps we should take time out to reflect, instead of being caught up in the continual hunt to find The Next Big Thing. I sometimes think if I walk the earth for a year and cast aside all thoughts of connecting with the pop culture onslaught that consumes me at home, that coming back I would be terrified of feeling left behind by the whirlwind of chinese whispers and exultant feature articles. I should feel stupid stating such feelings out loud, but sadly it's true.


I'm in a mood, admittedly. And with The Warlocks mood is everything. As I'm tired and jaded, and in need of some decent sleep, this is the sort of album that digs you six feet deep cemetery plots and beckons you in. I can't see past the darkness; the thick curtain of sloth. I'm tired of bullshit lyrics that hector or pose. Every emotion and feeling is dulled, whether it is pain or love. The seven piece drone and indulge. Trail of the Dead have similar inclinations, but there's a rage and verve in their music which inspires some belief that some things are worth fighting for. All of this frustrates me. There is no inner life here; only an insouciant hush and wish to sink in a welter of narcotics and meandering guitars. This is no way to live.


It's sleazy. Everybody says so, like it's some mark of due sanctity. If you could smell The Warlocks they would reek of blood and cheese, rolled in dirt and smoked in a delicatessen. Bobby Hecksher has gone to Rock High School and perfected the whine, the cry, the slurs, the arrogance, the cool whisper - when he sings 'the dope is good' he aches with all the beautified grace of someone who doesn't care. Then on “Baby Blue” he's all silk, and it is on this song where the guitars are coiled rather than unfurled like rip snorting hobgoblins, do the band hit the perfect balance. Plus I like the fact they have two drummers. Two drummers are always better than one.


The existence of the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club has readied the terrain for The Warlocks and I'm certainly glad another new band with hype up their ass and drugs on the brain and in their veins, isn't coming straight at us from the FUCKING GARAGE ROCK genre. Or maybe not. Should we thank BRMC or send them letter bombs? Is it alchemy or robbery? Inspired or insipid? Who knows. All I have are questions. The Warlocks are confusion.