Halfway through this comes “Disconnected”, and it’s one of those moments where everything clicks. Sami Yaffa’s bass is having far too much fun, the band sound like a unit rather than a backing crew, and Monroe is reflecting on the lack of connection in the modern world. Perhaps that’s why this record feels so much like a gang. One lyric offers “I’m still not fakin’ it.” Like he ever could. Like he ever would. More than that, it’s a knowing nod back to his late-80s solo album — the one that made MV fans in the first place — and to an attitude that has never changed.
That sense of purpose is there from the very start. “Rockin’ Horse” opens the album with a strut and a grin, helped by a brilliantly daft video that casts Monroe as a morning talk show host. Just one problem… Michael Monroe hasn’t seen an early morning in about 40 years. At least I hope not. In all his guises, he remains everything I want from a rock ’n’ roll star — fearless, flamboyant and entirely uninterested in acting his age.
From there, “Shinola” underlines just how sharp he still is. Telling the tale of “an angry little fucker with an axe to grind,” it feels like it could be autobiographical, maybe even a letter to his younger self. But the thing is so catchy that any deep analysis goes out the window. It just works. “Black Cadillac” follows, dripping in sleaze, the kind of song where you don’t really want to know what’s going on in the back seat — but you’re absolutely sure it’d make you blush.
A huge reason “Outerstellar” works as well as it does is the band. Monroe has stuck with the same stellar cast for years now, and that trust shows. They can turn their hand to the ragged, Replacements-ish snarl of “When the Apocalypse Comes” just as convincingly as the 60s-flavoured grooves of “Painless”, both of which underline the breadth of this record without ever losing its bite.
When the album hits its midpoint, it almost feels like flipping the record over. “Newtro Bomb” is proper punk — short, sharp, and spitting “everything new is old again” with a smirk that suggests Monroe knows exactly how that sounds coming from him.
Elsewhere, the anger is never far from the surface. On “Precious” it simmers before the harmonica explodes and Monroe reasserts himself, while “Pushin’ Me Back” sounds like a man who’s lived a life, taken the hits, and is still swinging. And the hooks — my god — they weld themselves in. This is a man who can still write choruses that refuse to let go.
Then he wrong-foots you. “Glitter & Dust” strips things back and shows Monroe as a proper balladeer. In another life, you could imagine him as a troubadour, and this is proof that heart has always been part of his armoury. That emotional thread carries into “Rode to Ruin”, where the harmonies are genuinely special, even if no one for a second believes he’s giving in. It’s still dead, jail or rock ’n’ roll for life.
The closing stretch is where Monroe really takes chances. “One More Sunrise” might be the most reflective thing he’s ever done. It builds patiently, features an accordion (and come on, you didn’t see that coming), and of course no Monroe album would be complete without a blast of sax. At nearly eight minutes, it’s almost a rock opera — a kind of State of the Union from a man still willing to risk it all.
On the opening song’s hook he sings “ain’t gonna give you what you want, I’ll give you what you need”.
Far be it from me to tell Michael Monroe he’s wrong, but this is not only want we needed, but what we wanted too. Outerstellar is sensational.
Rating: 9/10
