Outerstellar

Surprises… They’re rare and wonderful. When music decides to just show up and strut and rock and roll and stomp with swagger, swing and raw energy all over you, that’s the rarest surprise indeed. ‘What ‘genre’ is Michael Monroe?’ Oh, go and throw yourself back into the shoebox you restrict yourself to if you need a genre… …How about ‘sweet smelling leathery sweat wrapped in one of the greatest rock ‘n’ roll voices?’ How about ‘harmonies and vibes swimming in silk scarves and lounging on a beaten sofa in leather pants, with the AM hours alive and the melodies so, so intoxicating?’ And how about ‘attitude! Which screams carefree not carelessness, confidence not arrogance, a cocksure sense of self-bathed in the sheer joy of playing the religious experience of real rock ‘n’ roll.’ From loud crashing guitars to harmonicas, to gorgeous acoustic moments, you’ll sing, you’ll dance, you’ll shiver, you’ll shake, and you’ll smell this wonderful exhilarating record in all its weathered biker jacket incense-coated glory... and you’ll also realize that whatever the hell is going on in the world right now, when you put this album on, it’s an instant escape to carefree days and an emancipation from worries, fears, and woes. It is exactly what rock ‘n’ roll in its truest sense is meant to be, and Michael Monroe is handing you permission to get lost in the love of it. In fact, just stop reading this, play the bastard immediately, and go see Michael Monroe on tour at your first opportunity.