Ive read too damned many reviews that praise Detroits Demolition Doll Rods as mere cross-dressing modern primitives! Theres been a whole lot of useless ink spilled about pasties being part of their stage presence (about which all Ill say is, yup, theyre pretty much naked more later). And, in case you hadnt read it in some other rag, rhythm guitarist Doll Rod Danny was a member of our citys criminally underappreciated Gories. But thats not the top story on tonights indie-rock news flash. This time, its all about a band coming together. Flashing between aggression, confession and pure attitude, Margaret leads the crew into a musical hothouse where all ends of libido, uninhibited impulse and back-alley jive crossbreed. In the digital hiccups and sweaty manipulations that spring forth from TLA youll find a band that you know and love making, if not a quantum leap then an exponential one, into the world of brave, naked, streetwalking swagger that theyve made of their domain. While too many folks have spent their precious words (and your attention) talking about boobs, the Doll Rods have spent their time carefully and expertly transferring all of the testosterone inherent in Detroit Rock City (and their record collections) into, as they say, a cream-filled velvet surprise. News flash: Its fucking about sex, people!
Leslie Gore is thanking them for stating it so succinctly and not worrying about Dick Clark. The Shangri-Las were too trapped to let this kind of bare-bones boogie shake out so completely. Jon Spencers too caught up to be bothered. But leave it to the Doll Rods to strip the barely disguised code of Big Mama Thornton and Little Richard out of rocks cryptic language (while reinjecting the fever). The pasties are just a reminder that theres something more going on here. And, as for the usual anatomical dissection of the Doll Rods place in the rock marketplace, well, fuck it. It is primal, but, in a time when irony means dick, the Doll Rods let it all hang out.
Pass me the remote and hit repeat! Free your ass and your ass will follow.
This article appears in Jul 28 – Aug 3, 1999.