A record born under a bad sign, brought to life on a cold slab in a dark catacomb with a shot of electricity to the head; an album about drugs, violence and sex made by a Lou Reed fanatic and a Patty Smith worshipper locked in a fantastic death dance.

Floridian Alison 'VV' Moshart gave up the USA and jumped on a plane back in 2000 leaving all she had to join Londoner Jamie 'Hotel' Hince, and so The Kills were formed. This is their twisted labour of love.

And it is a blackly addictive one where the spirits of the Velvet Underground, Sonic Youth and the Royal Trux are mixed up to this result; a potion of jerky, scratchy, garage/blues classics like 'Cat Claw' and 'Black Rooster', the contrast between 'VV's oddly sweet PJ Harvey homage vocals and 'Hotel's' dirty grunting stark.

New single 'Fried my Little Brains', comes on like a alterna pop classic, seriously tight and seriously wired. 'Hitched' blurs the boundaries between love and hate ('get my name stitched on your lip so you wont get hitched') and the title track pounds home its mantra laying down fetters with the repetition. All of which raises The Kills to the very top of the New Rock.

So now it hurts, so good it doesn't matter.

Alistair Hann