In the early '80s, the Cramps' spirited voodoo trashabilly was something of a radical gesture; their campy (and all-too-knowing) colliding of arcane '50s rock, B-movie schlock and S&M shock promised dangerous fun. But with trailer-park chic now the province of bands as varied as White Zombie and Flat Duo Jets (not to mention endless scads of 'zine artists, hairstylists, Gen-X starlets, sitcoms, directors and video makers), these junk prophets no longer rage in the wilderness but flounder in a (relative) mainstream. Original rockabilly, at one time their jealously guarded mother lode, is now generously reissued – and beside the high, wild humor of Billy Lee Riley or Charlie Feathers, the twang-bar antics of the Cramps' Poison Ivy pale. On "Swing the Big Eyed Rabbit" and "Let's Get Fucked Up," Lux Interior relentlessly wails. The thing is, we've heard it all before. (RS 703)

PAUL EVANS