Articles and Reviews
Bangsheet, May, 2000
By Kurt Hernon
Glam be damned.
This record is being called, by nearly everyone, a post-modern "glam" piece, and there may be a bit of truth to it - I'd guess. I mean the cover art is all glitter, make-up, and sex. Champagne, limosines, and girls with girls adorn the mood and appearance, but, boy oh boy, the insides of this baby are all cod piece, sock crotched, Rock (and roll). Big, beautiful, roaring guitars driving platinum coated nails into humming, whirring, synthesizers.
This isn't your daddy's glam, noooo, this is Cock rock (capitol "C" required).
But, this is Cock rock of the most unusual kind - it adores the transgender androgyny of rock and roll at it's most sexual. It feels just as comfortable in a heels and lace as it does in denim and leather. Glam is about the surface: shiny and superficial. Nightlife is about contact: physicality and sex. Maybe perverted, maybe straight, maybe not-so-straight, but the record is always about the thrust and the grind.
Never so blatant as to explain themselves, Cobra Verde induce the muscle twitch with shear power. The oozing 'touch me'-ness of the songs don't club you over the head, they lull and seduce
you until the next thing you know you're naked…ready to be up against the heat and movement.
Rock music has always been a source for testosterone induced mania. It's about swaying hips and bright red lips. It's about transforming the person you are into the person every girl (or guy) wants. Rock is a physical medium that has for too long forgotten it's own latent sexuality.
On Nightlife, through the resourceful collision of BowieMotttheHoopleNewYorkDolls LouReed musicality and unleashed modern sexual aggression, Cobre Verde has dumped the voyeurs stance of current day alternative rock and are strutting their powerful sex all over the place.
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