Among discredited styles, late-'80s haircut metal is at the top of the heap. Consequently, Skid Row are about the last place you would look for the salvation of rock. They may have sold 10 million records worldwide, but in even mildly progressive circles the group is thought to be more or less synonymous with the sexist dinosaur Nirvana was supposed to have killed off for good.

Yet with Subhuman Race, the razoredged pendulum may have begun its steep return arc. While many of the best alternative bands are now mired in the self-obsession and roots worship that often signal the decline of an underground movement, this album has the freshest riffage since last year's Soundgarden record – tight, hot guitar lines and radio hooks that burn themselves into your brain.

Although his lyrics aren't exactly Vedderish, Sebastian Bach – once reviled for a T-shirt that was horribly homophobic – almost cleaves to PC respectability on this one. And although he hasn't quite rid himself of the occasional high-pitched quaver – like his thick New Jersey accent, hints of his "18 and Life" past continue to haunt him – his voice, newly expressive, often strays closer to Trent Reznor howl than to Bon Jovi squeal. (RS 706)

JONATHAN GOLD