Rock Like Fuck by Super Destroyer: A Punk Riot Straight Outta Canada
Alright, let’s get one thing straight—Super Destroyer didn’t come to play nice with their 2008 self-released punk rock grenade Rock Like Fuck. This ain’t your polished, overproduced crap; it’s raw, dirty, and in-your-face. If you’re looking for something that’ll slap you awake and remind you why punk still matters, this is the album for you. Hailing from Canada (yeah, those polite folks can rage too), these guys hit hard with six tracks that feel like a boot to the skull.
First off, props to Rusty on vocals—he sounds like he gargled broken glass and whiskey before stepping up to the mic. And Johnny Brimstone? Dude rips his guitar like it owes him money. But let’s talk about two tracks that stick in my head like gum on a hot sidewalk: “Built For Rock N Roll” and “Texas Death Match.”
“Built For Rock N Roll” kicks off like a chainsaw through plywood. It’s fast, loud, and unapologetic as hell. The riff grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go until you’re gasping for air. By the time Rusty screams the chorus, you’re either throwing fists in the air or questioning all your life choices. That’s what makes it unforgettable—it’s not just music; it’s an adrenaline shot straight to the heart. You don’t listen to this track—you survive it.
Then there’s “Texas Death Match,” which feels like a bar fight set to music. Junior’s drumming pounds like someone kicking down a door, while Mr. Bones’ basslines rumble underneath like distant thunder. Lyrically, it’s pure chaos—a mix of swagger and violence that paints a picture of exactly what the title suggests. I mean, how could you forget lines like “bloodstained gloves and no rules”? It’s brutal, catchy as hell, and makes you wanna smash stuff. What more do you want?
The production’s rough around the edges, but that’s kinda the point. Matthew Thomas did his best to keep things gritty without losing the punch. And hey, credit where it’s due—the cover art by Phil Howe looks like something you’d find spray-painted on a wall after dark. Melissa Steeves and Chris Galbraith nailed the photography too, giving the whole package that DIY aesthetic we love.
So yeah, Rock Like Fuck isn’t perfect—but who gives a damn? It’s real, it’s loud, and it reminds you that punk isn’t dead—it’s just pissed off. Listening to this album feels like getting sucker-punched by a friend—it hurts, but deep down, you respect it.
Final thought? These dudes probably recorded this album in a garage somewhere, fueled by cheap beer and bad decisions. And honestly? That’s exactly why it works.
