This is my second review of an album by THE RODS this week, so for a brief introduction to the band, see my other review of their self-titled debut "The Rods". "Wild Dogs" picks up where "The Rods" left off with the band coming off several high-profile tours with top British acts, Arista had them permanently ensconced within the borders of the UK, demanding that they record their sophomore effort on these very shores. The logic was that with the NWOBHM sweeping the world, recording the album in the UK might lend it some credibility which would then translate into sales back in their homeland. This gamble was not to pay off however, as while the band produced a more focused effort which finally picked a style and ran with it, the expected global success did not follow, and the band was subsequently and unceremoniously ditched by Arista.

Since their debut the band has refined their sound and taken a step in a calculated direction, the Boogie element is mostly gone, while the heavy Prog Rock and Euro Metal sound of bands like RAINBOW and ACCEPT has been fully embraced. Unfortunately for the most part the lyrics remain as immature and lunkheaded as ever, there has been little growth in this area and while their contemporaries were taking flight with ever more ambitious lyrical works, THE RODS remained mired in childish takes on masculinity and sexuality.

The album opens in a curiously low-key style, with the generic mid-tempo "Too Hot to Stop" which fails to set my world on fire, there are numerous other tracks on the album which would have been a better fit to open this LP, so I cannot see why they chose one of their most boring songs. "Waiting For Tomorrow" vastly improves on this disappointing start with a much more propulsive chugging riff, punctuated with some superb fills from drummer Carl Canedy and a vibrant chorus, while Feinstein rips through several extended guitar solos with great aplomb. The lyrics show a rare moment of something that almost resembles introspection, although like the rest of the lyrical content they lack any imagery, remaining stubbornly literal.

Falling back into a sleazy stomp, the most interesting thing "Violator" has to offer is some genuinely objectionable and insalubrious lyrics, which would likely see a guy cancelled today, and with good reason. Following straight on, "Burned by Love" is less criminal in its intent but plods along with little to distinguish it outside of a decent harmonized guitar riff and the usual epic guitar solo. If only everything about THE RODS were as good as David Feinstein's enviable guitar skills.

The verses of title Track "Wild Dogs" ditch the sleaze in favour of a more propulsive NWOBHM style, akin to something like MOTORHEAD, while the choruses fall back on the same disreputable cliches as much of the rest of the album, and of course it never misses an opportunity to remind us to rock.  As with their major label debut, the highlight of this album is a cover, this time I would venture not imposed by the record company but chosen by the band. The cover in question is "You Keep Me Hanging On" by THE SUPREMES and whilst you might expect this to be an artistic disaster, it is anything but. Feinstein's vocals sound earnest, yearning and soulful, and the song comfortably translates into a hard rock guitar riff. The backing vocals shine and Garry Bordonaro's bass has a supremely deft touch, retaining the original Motown style without sounding incongruous. More than anything, the track stands as a testament to the power of great song writing, whatever the genre.

"Rockin' and Rollin' Again" is about rocking and rolling, again. It doesn't do much other than rock and roll, which it does well.
The melodic highlight of the album is "End of The Line" which has hints of early DEF LEPPARD with its scrupulous attention to detail in constructing the multi-layered backing vocals for the quite rousing chorus. Another utterly unruly yet expertly performed guitar solo puts the cherry on the top of this stand out track. It's followed by another lumbering, elephantine Hard Rocker in "No Sweet Talk, Honey" which serves only to remind us once again of the poor lyrical content. "I'm going to give you some straight talk, no beating 'round the bush" sings Feinstein, unfortunately this is the only method of communication the band seem to have.  Continuing the theme established by almost everything THE RODS have recorded to date; the album concludes with a red-blooded celebration of all things Rock. With lyrics such as "Cause when we light up one thing is true, we're gonna play our asses off for you", you could be excused for thinking this is a STEEL PANTHER parody, except it isn't.

Once again, the production is peerless, Carl Canedy retains the crisp separated sounds of their previous offering but ups the ante with more inventive vocal arrangements and overdubs. Feinstein's regular solos remain a highlight of THE RODS' output, as he shows himself to be one of the most accomplished shredders on the scene at the time, but also can imbue his wild, raucous excursions with a great deal of soul and feeling. Sadly, none of this is enough to overcome the pedestrian song writing and idle, fatuous lyrics which leave this album firmly in the bargain bin.