Lynch Mob are one of those bands that, generally, if you know, you love. They have always existed slightly out of fashion and slightly above it too, because when George Lynch plugs in, the argument rather tends to end there.
Lynch decided to call it quits after the last Lynch Mob record, giving this final ride a little more urgency, perhaps. If that is the case, then they are not going quietly. There is no grand farewell speech here, no misty-eyed goodbye. Just riffs, solos, muscle and that familiar sense that Lynch still sees a fretboard as something to be conquered.
“Lightning Strikes Again” is proper metal — think Judas Priest — as Gabriel Colon gives it his best Halford, all leather-lunged intent and fire. But for “River Of Love” they are pure hard rock, and on “No Good” they swagger like they have just kicked open the backstage door and found the bar still open. Those are three key tenets of what George Lynch does, really: metal, hard rock, and a strut that sounds like trouble.
“Caught Up,” from the last album, is fun, while “Hell Child” has something of an ominous, occult air about it, the sort of thing that stalks rather than runs. “Let Music Be The Master” is, perhaps appropriately, the first of the epics. A touch of prog has always coloured this band — inevitable, maybe, given Lynch’s skill — and the jams work because they never feel like padding. There is purpose to the indulgence.
“Time After Time” is shorter, sharper and more to the point, while “Paris Is Burning” almost marries both worlds, bringing the crunch and the musicianship together. Appropriately, “Rain” flows where it wants, unhurried and instinctive, and “Street Fighting Man” — not a Stones cover — has all the intent you would hope for, but Lynch dazzles here too, still throwing sparks like this is the first night of the tour rather than the last lap.
On “It’s Not Love” he does so again. This could have been the sort of classy hard rock he has been doing since his Dokken days, but it is also a singalong and a jam, which is basically Lynch Mob in miniature: big hooks, bigger guitars, and the sense that everyone involved knows exactly what the job is.
They save the longest — and best — until last. “Wicked Sensation” ties up every loose end, revisiting the spirit of the band without sounding like a museum piece. It struts, it stretches, it burns, and then it walks off without looking back.
If this really is The Final Ride, then they have gone out like thoroughbreds.
Rating: 8/10
