Whilst the cool hatted tripes of NYC are currently moving from New Wave to Duran Duran synth slop in the list of cool retro scenes to focus their Greenwich Village fanzines on, some residents of Manhattan are a bit more firmly stationed.

Grand Mal, for example, appear to have found their niche; their groove, their alma mater. Locked down, sleazed up seventies rolling rock filth very much Stones, very not The Faint. Initially, the vocals remind of Bobby G or even Tim Burgess, and then you realise its because at points in their respective careers, they too, have paid homage to the Gods of the Stones and their ilk.

So what's new? Nothing. What's great? Everything. Roaring, rollicking, self-believing tunes that are more interested in "standing in the corner smoking marijuana", and warning you about that girl you just know is going to be trouble, but dammit, you just can't help it. Mix in a handful of wonderfully blissed-out smack-soul ballads and you have a prime guitar-toting stew of true believing rock worship.

Not on the cool list, then, but really fucking cool.