The Muggs

The power trio is not a term to be used lightly — for every Blue Cheer there's a blink-182 — but when it's applied to the electrifying cacophony emitted by the Muggs, it's almost not enough. The Detroit-based threesome is a power trio the way that Led Zeppelin or Black Sabbath were — Robert Plant and Ozzy are cultural icons, but it's what went on behind them that launched a million rock bands. Muggs guitarist Danny Methric's solos transcend the blues that spawned them by sneaking out of their major and minor trajectories without a care in the world, while drummer Matt Rost and bass player Tony DeNardo — the latter switched to the lower register on a Fender Rhodes after suffering a hemorrhagic stroke in 2001 that left his right side paralyzed — sound as if they're joined at the shoulders. This is stadium rock trapped in a club and looking for a way out with every intention of burning the roof down — not in a Great White kind of way — that brings to mind '70s classic rock like AC/DC, Humble Pie, and Mountain. What sets the Muggs apart from questionable blues-rock revivalists like the Kings of Leon is their complete lack of pretense. Perfectly rendered guitar rock is at its essence the simple practice of fusing together a bass and guitar lead that jumps into the pit of your stomach and stays there, something the Muggs have obviously mastered on standout cuts like "Need Ya Baby," "Monster," and the Hammond-driven "Hard Love," but they're not above taking the listener through a space rock mid-section that owes more to Piper at the Gates of Dawn-era Pink Floyd than it does Ten Years After. It's that perfectly balanced allegiance to both discipline — these gentlemen are obviously no strangers to the rehearsal room — and balls-out rock & roll hedonism that makes this self-titled debut, when inserted into the medium of your choice, turn up all by itself.