Old habits die hard in blue-collar northeast Philadelphia and its outlying suburbs. Rimless Iroc-Zs up on blocks still dot the landscape, and there's no shortage of mullets and acid-washed denim parading through JCPenney on Saturday afternoons.
Musically speaking, the locals have little tolerance for progressive trance or indie-noise-punk or ninth-wave ska or whatever -- they want Zeppelin, Aerosmith, G n' R . . . y'know, rock and fawkin roll, man. So it's really the perfect breeding ground for a band like Silvertide -- five longhaired, habitually shirtless twentysomething dudes who would look right at home tucked in between Foghat and Nazareth videos on VH1 Classic. Though singer Walt Lafty may protest to the contrary, there's more than a bit of the Black Crowes' Chris Robinson in his crusty-throated yowl; the thick power-chorded melodies wrapped around it are all about AC/DC, while chief axeman Nick Perri's fretwork, particularly on the quintet's recent single, "Ain't Coming Home" (from last summer's debut album, Show & Tell), reanimates Billy Duffy's bare-knuckled leads from the Cult's Electric. That kinda sound earns you Donovan McNabb-level love in Philly, and chances are it'll go over real well wherever the heart of rock and roll's still beating.
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