There’s arguably a logical progression from the swamp to voodoo to jungle – the swamp is probably located in the midst of a jungle, with the atmosphere awash with enough voodoo to turn a naturally occurring environmental phenomenon into an object of fear. Whether that progression has anything to do with Rocket To Memphis’ latest record, Jungle Juice, is probably neither here nor there – though it’s fun to speculate.
Produced by Matt Verta-Ray (Heavy Trash, Speedball Baby), Jungle Juice picks up where Rocket To Memphis’s last record, Hip Shakin’ Voodoo, left off. Rocket To Memphis identify, celebrate and exploit a rich aesthetic – thumping jungle beats, slick ’50s garage-rockabilly riffs and sassy femme vocals.
I’m Bad is the ideal type of Rocket To Memphis track, a genuinely groin-arresting offering that arrests any sense of dancefloor slumber. There’s plenty more where that came from – Walkin’ The Plank walks up, steals your drink and thrusts its suspender-adorned leg in your threatened face, Dressed To Kill rumbles into action like the cast of West Side Story on location in Tacoma and Black Cat Fever has more attitude than a Chicago cop busting a southside den of sexual depravity.
Hoodoo Jive is where Rocket To Memphis slide behind the wheel and take off down the highway in a puff of rockabilly smoke, Never Felt Like This is a Brazillian bossa nova-style moment of rock ‘n’ roll spice and beauty, while Time Machine has all the confronting presence of a shabby heroine from a Raymond Chandler novel up to no good.
Rocket To Memphis have hit upon a formula that’s guaranteed to please anyone who’s got half an inkling for where rock ‘n’ roll wants to go – below the belt, with a arrogant sneer, a casual thrust of the groin and a rockingly depraved good time. Get thee to the dance floor, and get dancing.
