Like any self-respecting cock rock band, the Brides of Destruction wield black leather and wickedly shaped guitars with unashamed purpose, and the glint of chrome bouncing off their various bodily ornaments is only dulled by the caricature drawing on the cover of their debut, Here Come the Brides. Despite their cartoonish appearance, however, the foursome, headed up by former L.A. Guns lead Traci Guns and Motley Crue bassist Nikki Sixx, still appear pretty menacing. Skulls and roses abound, symbolizing the all too familiar dichotomy of bad boys on the lookout for love, but Here Come the Brides oscillates between these two themes far too mechanically, and the Brides end up telling the same stories we heard, and eventually dismissed, fifteen years ago.
Musically, Here Come the Brides rocks with all the swagger, inebriation and low IQ of the best hair rock. Like a drunk driver in a fast car on a curvy California road, the Brides play with the reckless abandon one would expect from 80s L.A. veterans. At times hard and fast, at times swerving and uncertain, always confident and out of control, the ride is a blast until conscience and consciousness flash their red and blue lights in the rearview.
