Augsburg, Germany's cheekily named Hollywood Burnouts remind us once again that the ‘80s glam metal explosion, however insipid, superficial, materialistic, and subsequently condemned, still burnished every corner of the globe with the Sunset Strip ethos (however insipid, superficial, etc.). Furthermore, its values and messages still reverberate with youthful aspiring rockers to this day -- even though, come to think of it, there were no redeeming values to be found and, technically speaking, really no message, either! Well OK, so perhaps even simple aspirations like driving fast cars, baiting buxom babes, and defending the universal right to rock out with one's cock out ultimately qualify as "messages," but try listening to 2012's suitably named Excess All Areas all the way through and coming out inspired to change the world for the better. Heck, try listening all the way through, period. For you see, while the ‘80s glam scene actually backed up its sleaze with authentic rebellion and cod-metallic power during the decade's first half (courtesy of W.A.S.P., Quiet Riot, the earliest Ratt and Mötley Crüe, etc.), the boys in Hollywood Burnouts were seemingly inspired by prefab, second-half lightweights such as Warrant, White Lion, and Poison (not even Guns N' Roses -- last of the bad boys!). As such, the young group's astonishingly bland regurgitations of that decadent formula produces reams of brainless, flaccid twaddle like "Hands of Rock" and "Kings of Sin," alongside pouty ballads like "A Part of My Heart" and "Remember Me," which frankly barely register a pulse. What about the lyrics? Don't ask (same old clichés delivered with the confidence of a parakeet). Yes, the Burnouts finally show some guitar-slinging balls to go with those aforementioned exposed cocks on "Wild at Heart" and "Wild Side" (not the Mötley tune, though the title does reflect this band's lacking imagination), but even so, it's all been done before -- and once was already more than enough. In all honesty, Excess All Areas is so puerile, ham-fisted, and poorly executed it often sounds like a bedroom demo, and likely would never have drawn record company interest even in the A&R dregs of 1989. So why should it impress any surviving mascara bandits and spandex trouser snakes still hanging on to their Sunset Strip dreams in the third millennium? Well, depending on their state of senility, maybe more than we think, so don't mind the negativity if infantile glam rock debauchery is your thing -- party ‘til you puke, duuuuudes!
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AllMusic Review by Eduardo Rivadavia