7 / 10
For anyone still mourning those Afros, Boy Hits Car have arrived. Their name alone has the captivating suspense of a motorway pile-up and their rawk fervency might just erase any distressing memories
of At The Drive-In's 'indefinite hiatus'.
Worryingly, however, years of paying their dues live has made Boy Hits Car talk like district councillors. The sleevenotes read like a Citizen's Charter for 'live music', while their outspoken refusal to be part of LA's pay-to-play circuit contains all the rage of Stephen Gately running a bit late for a photo shoot.
Sunshine and big shorts are at work here. Brilliantly one-dimensional for the most part, BHC's second album is a cartoon-emo union of Led Zep trippery and the soulful brutality of Jane's Addiction. But like an overweight terrorist, they're never quite as threatening as they should be. 'The Rebirth' is Papa Roach with GCSEs, while 'Lovecore (Welcome To)' is richly textured romantic rock fodder. Surprisingly, 'Boy Hits Car' is best during potentially fatal innovations like the metal tabla of 'Going To India', the loose, spidery 'Benkei' and the flute-adorned wonder 'Before We Die'. Their battle of Los Angeles might not have the urban drama of Rage Against The Machine, but it's still a just war.
Andre Paine
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