Fans of "And Out Come The Wolves'" Clash-inspired pop hooks might wince at the blistering hardcore found here, but this collection of urgent, gravel-voiced...

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Fans of "And Out Come The Wolves'" Clash-inspired pop hooks might wince at the blistering hardcore found here, but this collection of urgent, gravel-voiced anthems is one of the most vital things the punk world has coughed up in years. At a time when "punk" doofuses Blink 182 score hit singles, these 38 minutes of warp-speed passion prove how great the real thing can still be.

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On "Rancid," the band and its co-producer, Epitaph label head Brett Gurewitz, have gone back to the garage. The album has twenty-two songs, clocking...

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On "Rancid," the band and its co-producer, Epitaph label head Brett Gurewitz, have gone back to the garage. The album has twenty-two songs, clocking in at just over thirty-nine minutes; "Rancid's" sonic reduction leaves only rip chords, thundering double-time drums, and shout-along choruses screamed with desperate abandon by Rancid vocalists Tim Armstrong and Lars Frederiksen. "Life Won't Wait's" experimentation hasn't totally dissipated: "Let Me Go" gets wacky with the wah-wah pedal, and "Radio Havana" finds Rancid as dub-wise as ever. Solos aren't forbidden, either - on "Axiom," bassist Matt Freeman arpeggiates like John Entwistle on speed.
With "Rancid," the band's mix of American thrash minimalism and Brit punk's sound and fury have transcended revivalist mimicry once and for all. The result is a brutally exuberant rock album. When Armstrong sings, "Let me go just one last time," on "Let Me Go," it's a most heart-rending moment of punk poignancy. Before you know it, the album is over. In the words of the late Johnny Thunders, you can't put your arms around a memory, but you never want to let go of music this powerful.

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