DON JUAN Y LOS BLANCOS
The Real Kids did a version of the Animals’ version of “Roberta”/“I Ain’t Mad At You” on their perfect first LP, and that’s how Don Juan Y Los Blancos make their monsters, too—it’s ’56 as done by ’66 as done again by ’76, like DMZ or Billy Childish or Gun Club or Pandoras, too. Those were bands that had their brains permanently dented by punk but who knew there was a further source to seek out and drink from, preferably with a whiskey chaser. Roughly speaking, that’d be rock ‘n’ roll between Ike Turner and the Sonics, and that’s why Don Juan Y Los Blancos warn you right up front that you better like to dance all day and bone down all night. Everything anyone liked from the last album is here, for sure, but supercharged and screaming louder and louder as it gets closer in the rearview mirror. Becky growls like a Dangerhouse punk girl who knows exactly where Wanda Jackson was coming from—which she is, I think?—and the push-pull vocals she does with Don Juan are way more Paula and Jeffrey Lee than John and Exene or Mickey and Sylvia. “That’s All,” “Runnin’”, “Bottom of the Bottle” and “Wild Gal” are all winners, and I didn’t even talk about the sad ones but you know what? They rip, too. For punks with Nick Tosches on the bookshelf and Wild Turkey in the liquor cabinet.