“Where Queens of the Stone Age have always explored the dark and dirty, the excess and the evil, the nicotine, valium, vicodin, marijuana, and ecstasy, the Eagles of Death Metal crank up a cock-rock sound that's free of any danger or seriousness.”
I’m no expert on the subject but if you are going to make a record that almost exclusively is designed for strippers to pole and lap dance to, flimsy glam rock won’t do. (And I know I am not alone in this thinking.)
First of all you can’t even dry hump to anything with production this flaccid. I mean who likes limp cock-rock? (Maybe Pitchfork since they offered EODM a 7.3 rating?)
Secondly the silhouette of something meaty, naughty, and worthy of a serious grind is there but a full figured romp and stomp is never totally revealed. (What a tease!) Blame the less than virile song writing or the mildy macho mixing job but the end result no matter what is sad case of e-ROCK-tile dysfunction.
Thirdly and lastly it’s a damn shame. Eagles of Death Metal teeter (like double D cups supported by 6 inch heels) on the verge of the kind of sexy silly swagger mastered by T. Rex and The Cramps (with a dash of Rocket from the Crypt) but EODM’s songs never peak equally. This collection of barely legal psychobilly smokes like a dime bag of oregano and that doesn’t spell party, it spells amateur hour (37 minutes to be exact) and a 6.0 rating.
