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Rating: It's with a distorted and hallucinatory flamenco (Why?) that the awakening once again turns into a bad dream.
The return to life in the chaotic and noisy streets of New York becomes a repetitive, dark, and annihilating journey ("Night After Night").
Walking through the alleyways of the slums, a venue may appear, and it may also happen to stumble upon a party where ragged men dance to an equally shabby and swaying Rockabilly played by the Cramps in a pessimistic and demonic moment ("Wee Dewgees").
"Boom Like I Like It" is the logical continuation of the horror ride the band has just embarked on. The sound becomes as tense as the explosion they're waiting for to annihilate the present they live in, one they wouldn't want to belong to.
In Soho amidst so much depravity, even a "Batman" can appear when you least expect it!
The Honeymoon with this outrageous divertissement give us a breath of unhealthy but sufficiently amusing air to allow us to escape, if only for an instant, from the sense of claustrophobia that the dimly lit tunnels have allowed us so far.
Just a moment indeed!
Evil is around the corner, "Pain in Easy" exclaims it with a creaking and martial step as if the group wanted to show the bond that ties them to Teenage Jesus and the most perverse and cruel No Wave.
It's good and cheap (Good'n'Cheap) the lycanthropic blues they dish out from the sidewalk, right beside a dumpster from which two limping and drooling dogs have just finished rummaging for the moldy bite of the evening.
One emerges from the alleys straight onto one of the many busy streets of the City ("Motor City" indeed). You need to cross, but how do you do it if the street is an alley infested with many Travis Bickle ("Taxi Driver") who have everything but the intention to let you do it.
Yet, they made it!
"Here We All Are"!
A sigh of relief, the dawn, everyone has survived after this night that had no intention whatsoever of ending.
If "Honeymoon Killers From Mars" is a journey into the more animalistic and perverse darkness, "Love American Style" can't help but be the day after, the awakening from the most hallucinatory sleep finding oneself, despite everything, once again bogged down in a reality not dissimilar from the nightmare just lived, a sort of walk inside Bosch's "Judgment Day" set in the malignant and grotesque night of "After Hours".
The album is a bruised fresco of an urban civilization annihilated by a chaotic lifestyle, an image of irrational and insane madness dictated by a total lack of "lofty" goals to reach.
It's the visceral reaction to a desire to escape from the urban jungle to which the Honeymoon Killers are now inexorably and insolubly tied by a double chain.
Souls no longer chaste for slaughter!
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