Cherry Valence

Coming on like the greatest Time-Life Sounds of the ’70s comp never made, the Cherry Valence’s third LP is a magnum opus of hairy-knuckled Me Decade proto-punk fetishism that practically reeks of blood, sweat and beer. The Raleigh, NC, rock revivalists — blessed with not one, but two genuine singing drummers — shimmy and shake with such a convincing, cocksure brashness, it’s hard to believe that the copyright date isn’t a typo. This 14-track monster betrays a more-than-passing familiarity with rock’s sacred texts: opener "Sunglasses and Headlights” is vintage Kiss slathered in Upper East Side punk grime, the thuggish riffs and huskily-growled come-ons of "Sing No Blues” are worthy of Phil Lynott, and the nimble, quasi-funk groove of "The Only Game in Town” screams MC5 at the pinnacle of their tight-trousered powers. The tunes are gritty and raw, unsullied by ProTools chicanery and peppered with enough fresh ideas (and cleverly recycled old ones) to avoid sounding like Stooges karaoke. Move over, Jet — the retro-rock sweepstakes just got a helluva lot more interesting.