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Power : Electric Glitter Boogie

★★★★

In physics, power is the amount of energy consumed per unit of time. If there’s a lot of energy consumed in a short period of time, there’s a lot of power. Power’s debut album, Electric Glitter Boogie, clocks in at around 43 minutes, and there’s enough energy to sustain a bustling rock’n’roll metropolis.
 
It starts with a declaratory cry of the album’s name and a lick that grabs you by the throat and spits Sabbath venom in your quivering face. You know what’s coming but you don’t know if you’re strong enough to withstand the attack. You take a breath and there’s a hint of Kiss’s 100,000 Years to usher in Serpent City before a leathery Texas riff winds its way salaciously around your body. Puppy stands upright in front of your puny FM-rock form, and pummels you with a series of one-inch Black Flag punches, leaving you battered, bruised but strangely content. The fellating intensity of Gimme Head renders The Radiators a bunch of toothpaste squeezing schoolboys in comparison, and that’s not a pretty sight to behold.
 
By the time you turn the record over – this is, after all, an album conceived for vinyl – and listen to the lustful pistol whipping of Slimy’s Chains, you’re in a state of near ecstasy. The lead break kicks in and it’s the Coloured Balls preaching the evil virtues of rock’n’roll from the pulpit of a dirty Tacoma bar. Rainbow Man is pissed off in a speed-ravaged Ramones sort of a way. Then, oh man, what a fucking groove in The Reaper – Blue Oyster Cult eat your fucking heart out, and then have some Cream intestines for dessert. And then there’s the seven-minute finale of Power. This is pub rock when it was a genuinely disruptive political force, all cheap booze, sweat and seething resentment. Rock’n’roll doesn’t come much more powerful than Electric Glitter Boogie.
 
BY PATRICK EMERY