The Cheater Slicks' gruff rumble is definitely a singular sound in modern rock. Here are two brothers and an old pal who have played together for so long (18 years, eight albums, scads of singles) that they've fused themselves into one marauding being onstage. All three are obsessively versed in all manner of American, blues-based, gutter-to-swamp detritus -- primarily coalescing around a jangly '60s garage center -- and have relentlessly growled out a fractured, often surprisingly catchy cacophony.
This bunch has refused to allow the usual standards of rock decorum -- specifically, any notions of when to quit -- to dent their walled-in world of dogged determination. As a result, the band has slowly, unwittingly become one of the most influential flickering bulbs out on the noise-rock edge. Imagine the Energizer Bunny with tinnitus, decked out in ravaged dancing shoes.