Kiss My Grass

Chronique

It's pretty much what you'd expect from the crew that had already tapped the cornpone soul of AC/DC. The scary thing about these covers of Kiss classics is how easily teenage testosterone rock can be transplanted to a self-described "hillbilly" milieu. There's no shortage of comic moments, particularly for those who are obviously conversant with the original versions; the percolating banjo on almost every track reminds you -- repeatedly -- of how funny cultural juxtaposition is supposed to be. And it is funny, especially when the fit is so seamless: "Let's Put the X in Sex" and "Rock & Roll All Nite" are just about perfect redneck foot-stompers. But as with almost any joke that's told over and over, the humor gets a tad thin. Like Jed Clampett tripping over a puddle of oil, the guys do fall into a roaring groove at the end of "Heaven's on Fire," where John Wheeler fiddles himself nearly to oblivion. Even so, power riffs melted down to acoustic guitar and mandolin eventually lose their punch, and moonshine-fueled paeans to one's "Love Gun" don't hold up any better under repeated examination. Kiss My Grass is a hoot, but not quite a hoot 'n' holler.
© Robert L. Doerschuk /TiVo