Vue, Vue (Sub Pop) 9
San Fransico's Vue should have played on that Velvet Goldmine soundtrack rather than the washed-up oldsters and Brit-poppers to ineptly cover Roxy Music songs. Not that Vue necessarily sound anything like Roxy or Bowie or T. Rex. But they do manage to channel the gloriously trashy spirit of the glam era, along with the New York Dolls and Adam and the Ants. Overall Vue are more trebly, unruly and unwashed than any of their sleazy uncles. "Traffic White" mates the sneer of The Germs' Darby Crash with the hooks of Suede. "Girl" exhumes Suicide's Alan Vega (oh wait, he's alive isn't he?) into a spaceage psychedelic garage-grunge orgy. Vocalist Rex Selverton gets into character of a fourth generation white soul shouter ala The Original Sin's J.T. on "The Shame." "Talk To A Model" is Chrome administering electro-shock treatment to Gary Numan's Tubeway Army. Brainiac's Tim Taylor (R.I.P.) would have been proud. An engaging, maniacal live show seems guaranteed. Catch them before they either self-destruct or disband in disgust from lack of attention (remember, glam boys are in it for the attention and require lots of it).
