Local Review of Glambilly: White BBQ Sauce

What makes Glambilly so great isn't in a song, but a monologue. "Pablo" is a voicemail left on the title character's machine, wherein frontman/bassist/songwriter Hans Frank confesses that he "made eye contact" with Pablo's mother, a tattooed sexpot with a cokenail but no coke problem. "I am not old enough to be your father," Frank says. "I do not want to be your father." Glambilly is as much about attitude as it is about sound. Sonically, the album could be described as "Trucker in Weekend Drag." It boogies, it jams, it wears eyeliner and arm stockings while chasing whiskey shots with light beer. But Frank's love of the trash life makes pop starlet Ke$ha seem like a homely 4H counselor. In "Bite the Bed" he accuses a lover of putting on pounds in the 11 years he's been in the slammer — before saying he thinks his lady is better for the gain. Similarly, "Body in Plastic" is about driving by a dead body, delivered in a "well, shit happens" kind of tone. Glambilly also drop a couple swanky ballads, one heartfelt ("Memories") and one twisted ("Apt. 7902"). This is the kind of kinky shit that can only come from Texas' misfits.

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