Do you yearn for the days when rock stars wore greasy leather jackets, did truckloads of drugs, drank their faces off and actually made good music? If your answer is yes, then have I got a band for you: The Black Halos, a quintet of Vancouverites who play rock n’ roll the way it’s meant to be played -- loud, fast and with plenty of attitude. So grab some Johnnie Walker and get ready, because these five dirt-encrusted angels in black have come to rescue all you wandering souls out there from the sad sacks who pass for rock stars (not to mention the tripe that passes for rock music) these days.

You won’t find any lame ballads or pseudo-rap posturing on The Violent Years. Instead, you'll find an album that positively breathes fire from start to finish. While the ubiquitous Marilyn Manson has recently been quoted as saying, none too originally, that Rock is Dead, his words were apparently lost on these boys. Instead of buying into the idea that the indestructible rock star is dead, The Black Halos have chosen to revel in all the glory and excess that their given profession has to offer.

The entire foundation of The Violent Years’ sound is built upon the blazing twin-guitar attack of Jay Millette and Rich Jones. Lead singer Billy Hopeless jumps atop the gargantuan riffs tossed out by these two axe-wielding warriors, leading the band through a dozen slash 'n' burn anthems.

On songs like "Some Things Never Fail" and "Warsaw", the band harnesses the pure energy of Never Mind the Bollocks-era Sex Pistols, driving their message home with a barrage of jackhammer riffs and frenetic drumming. "Start the Violence" and "Sell-Out Love" steal glam-soaked pages from the New York Dolls’ playbook, combining shout-along choruses with a constantly shifting bass figure and filthy blasts of overdriven guitar.

Elsewhere, the mid-tempo paean to love and alcohol "50 Bourbon Street" finds the band at their most restrained, though they still pump out enough energy enough to blow most bands off the stage. At the opposite end of the spectrum, closer "No Class Reunion" sees the Halos at their most belligerent, throwing buzzing power chords, broken beer bottles and their sweaty leather jackets into the audience before exiting stage left in a haze of feedback and cigarette smoke.

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that the world needs bands like Murder City Devils and The Black Halos to remind us of the way rock 'n' roll is supposed to be played -- especially us young'uns who missed out on it the first time around. If antiseptic wuss-rock is your bag, then you should probably look elsewhere. But if it's some good old fashioned Jack Daniels-guzzling rock fury you're after, open the door and prepare to receive ten boots to the ass, courtesy of The Violent Years.