perfidy

Turbonegro used to be such fun! Leather-clad (and sailor-suited) glammed up Norwegians (some of whom may or may not have been midgets) singing freaky songs influenced by Priest and the Crue and Kiss the Scorps and Slade and especially Tap with titles like "Rock Against Ass" and "Rendezvous with Anus," all delivered in slightly Continental English with not the slightest hint of a smirk. Their 1998 album Apocalypse Dudes is one of my absoluto favorito butt-rock albums of all time, a pitch perfect slab of 80s-glam-metal punk goodness spiked with equal parts tribute and irony.

Their name, by the way, is reputedly an un-politically correct anti-racist jab at Norwegian xenophobes. According to the band, "A turbonegro is a large, well-equipped, armed black male in a fast car, out for vengeance. We are his prophets." Okay, then. We have a band of ugly, ballsy, raucous anti-racists operating in Norway's famously messed-up freaky metal scene, singing big hooky songs about boobs and rock and sex and stupid crap like that. Take it from me: when they were on their game, as on Apocalypse Dudes, it was something like genius.

Then they broke up. Something about that breakup, short though it was, apparently blew out whatever strange chemistry made them work.Their reunion album, 2003's Scandinavian Leather was panned by the notably harsh critics at pitchforkmedia as "cliched," "exhausted," and as deep and satisfying as Europe's unfortunate musical turd The Final Countdown. Ouch.

I am sorry to report that their new album, Party Animals isn't much better. The hooks are rote, the choruses are stilted, and the funny parts are obvious, and not in a good-ironic way. If Apocalypse Dudes was Robin Williams in 1986, climbing the sets and ad libbing deranged fantasies in front of delerious audiences, Party Animals is Robin Williams in 2005, mugging and sweating and mugging and grimacing and mugging and begging with his eyes for you to love him! For a paycheck! For one more shot at subbing for Bruce Vilanch on Hollywood Squares!

Party Animals does contain a few bright moments. "Blow Me Like The Wind" is fun in a sub-Spinal Tap way, and "All My Friends Are Dead" does the same thing as Jim Carroll's "People Who Died" except without quite as much angst. But on the other hand there are tracks like "Wasted Again," which is pretty much a note-for-note ripoff of The Dead Boys' "Sonic Reducer," "If You See Kaye (Tell Her I Love Her)," a mere excuse to spell If-You-See-Kay over and over for two and a half minutes, and the stunningly dumb-in-the-bad-way "City of Satan." In general, it is difficult to tell what is meant as ironic skewering of 80s-metal cliches, and what is just tired acquiescense to same. Although the sounds are in general inoffensive enough, you will get far more bang for your buck out of your old copy of Love at First Sting or Holy Diver, and that's not to mention Smell The Glove. Moreover, the very idea of an inoffensive Turbonegro album should give you, dear reader, some idea of how very far they have fallen.

It's not that Party Animals is a particularly awful album; it's not. To be awful the band would have had to try much harder. But it's also not any good, and I can't see much point in Turbonegro having made it, either. Turbonegro deserve some sidelong praise for their past successes and for helping other Scandanavian bands get a break- the Hives apparently owe their careers in part to Turbonegro's help- but if they're in it for the thrill, I think the thrill is gone, and if it's for the money, the pity's gone too.