When Towers of London played New York City in March, they took the stage looking like Sunset Strip suppositories. Malnourished, dressed in nut-hugging jeans and torn wifebeaters, and sporting slightly primped hair, the five boys were pretty in a sleazy, burnout kind of way. The set was a fabulous disaster; bottles were smashed, lips were split, beer was sprayed, and one lucky fan had her head opened with a runaway mic. But who's complaining? Rock needs these guys. There's little to no danger left in the genre once known for offending parents and liberating ornery kids. No one with any self-respect trashes their room to Jet or the Pink Spiders.
Towers bring a destructive, sniveling-shit rowdiness to the stage, and they've got the tunes to pad their skinny asses. Blood Sweat & Towers is a disheveled mix of Sex Pistols' snide punk and Aqua Net-endorsed guitar gems. "Kill the Pop Scene," "Air Guitar," and "Fuck It Up" are fist-pumpin', shout-along anthems catchy as crabs and brash enough to incite havoc, something the band is good at. When Donny Tourette beckons listeners into the "real world," he deliciously cautions, "it's not clean, it's dirty like my long johns stewing inside your brain!" When wanking a squiggly guitar solo or declaring "Rock 'n' roll, she is my creator," the band flaunts a decadent presence that backs their "drink, fight, fuck" credo. Towers claims they can't go anywhere without people wanting to kick their asses—proof that they're doing something right.
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