Britny Fox
Bite Down Hard

It's strange to see that the title of the Hollywood Rose album brings nearly 400 people to take a look at the review, while less renowned names always attract the die-hard fans who bravely and dedicatedly comment on my writings. I'm talking about a genre that is now long gone, and I believe there are indeed few who want to know anything about it. What is certain is that some of the offerings I've put forth on DeB are truly of quality, and, for some reason, I hope for more exposure on this piece where I high-five the four Americans without a second thought.

Britny Fox or metalheads who enjoyed street rock. This album by the unhealthy Philadelphia band has been practically snubbed by everyone en masse. When media attention fades away, the only thing left is the passion of the fans. That, I believe, is truly untouchable. "Bite Down Hard" (1991) is a nasty, ferocious, and shabby beast that didn't manage to earn the tour it richly deserved, but it is and will always be an unforgettable experience for genre lovers.

The fellow citizens of Cinderella were born in 1985 and debuted in 1988 with a self-titled gem that was glossy and heavily oriented towards Motley Crue. Street / glam / shock interpreted by metalheads just like the many that browse this site. A sonic fury that achieved overwhelming success but was still lacking its own personality. The same can be said for "Boys In The Heat" from the following year. Then—taratatà—as usual, problems arose, and there was the separation from the frontman, founder, and songwriter Dean Davidson, with the arrival in the lineup, after much searching, of Tommy Paris, who would prove to be a winning and decisive choice. A versatile and adaptable element, Paris took on a traumatic screaming with chronic following hoarseness, a guitar that beats on freshly poured hot asphalt, lyrics that make no one miss the ones considered excellent by the former singer. The turning point is here, starting with the charisma of the newcomer, who, during the composition phase with travel companions Smith, Childs, and Dee, operates with significantly harder and angrier sounds, yet elegant and superior, like heavy rock generals. The effect that Britny from this album has on me is like when I used to observe as a child those exaggerated fencing walls topped with coils of barbed wire, rusty iron spikes, and a layer of broken glass. A Canadian sawmill is probably the best reference for comparison in terms of decibels emitted. A hammer blow on the testicles, in short.

Also noteworthy are the guests on two tracks: Zack Wylde, at the time hired by Ozzy, in the opening Molotov "Six Guns Loaded," which is one of the hardest and most ruthless tracks ever produced in hard & heavy, and Ricki Rokket of Poison on drums in "Midnight Moses."

As you may have guessed, in "Bite Down Hard," the sweetness and suggestive poses from the Strip are absolutely absent. Here, kicks, punches, and tense nerves prevail, leaving not a nanosecond of the album unscathed, breaking through the glam wall with no regard. I'm not talking about Manowar here, to be clear. But the badassery that emerges from these 40 minutes of omnipotent and rough musical delirium is made of black leather, chains, and references to vamp ladies. The album opens with the sound of high heels and proceeds decisively and uncompromisingly into the heart of hard & heavy, as if nothing had existed before. A remarkable zeroing process and flambé on an oxyacetylene flame.

I'm not going to give you a track by track. Amid outbursts and calmer pieces, there still reigns a certain nobility (strange but true) and an execution coldness that almost scares me. The atmospheres are raw and unrefined but tend towards the positive. Explosive and smashing is the opener I already told you about. Great melody also in "Louder," the most beautiful track associated with the Britny Fox moniker. Paris's voice bursts into the body just like the brush cutter-like rhythm section effortlessly held together by the rest of the band. Michael Kelly Smith's solos are the best in the category and, if possible, run faster than the rest of the pack. What can I say, I throw them out there for you, amidst this jumble of lacquer and male thrashing that I don't believe could ever have a following in the history of humanity. If they disgust you, perhaps I should be happy, without any criticism, to be clear.