Besides having the dumbest album title short of Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water, Brooklyn’s Rockethouse holds the distinct honor of being a band that bleeds any and all originality from its much better influences. “They’re what you might get if you mashed up BRMC with the beats of Public Enemy,” exudes the press release that accompanies Weapons of Mass Distortion, “while noticeable influences include the Jesus and Mary Chain and XTRMNTR-era Primal Scream.” In other words, a complete fucking mess.
See, there’s a great thing that comes in handy when producing one of these metallic-guitars-meet-block-rockin’-beats records, the last of which expired in 1998. It’s called “restraint,” as in, “We could’ve added another layer of shrilling feedback, but we chose not to. We exercised restraint.” Rockethouse, both theoretically and actually, does not understand self-control.
Had the three members bothered to explore a sense of discipline — rather than, say, the entire Oasis catalog — they might’ve ended up with more songs like “My Clock,” a swirly tune that exercises restraint along with something else: “melody.”
Instead, we get the audio equivalent of Godzilla. On the surface, it looks like a monster movie. On record, it’s much worse.