Louis XIV creates a raunchy revival

Listening to Louis XIV’sdebut, The Best Little Secrets Are Kept (released March 22, 2005), should provoke two reactions. The first is, “My God, this is crude.” Lyrically, it’s about as profane as it can get without creating a national crisis (though it’ll make your mom blush). The second is, “My God, this is awesome.” And not “awesome” the way that preteen boys think Tom Green relieving an elephant is awesome.

With grit, charisma, and cocky self-assurance, the San Diego based four-piece struts its way through 11 songs of good old fashioned rock ‘n roll. It’s pretty dull out there in classic rock revival land (read: late-career Oasis, The Music), and Louis XIV is a mighty exciting, if raunchy, addition to the fold.

This is, above all, a revivalist’s record. The real aim of Secrets doesn’t seem to be to shock people (though it will probably do that, too) but to resurrect the bluesy hard rock championed by The Rolling Stones. While not a revolution—better-known bands like The White Stripes are doing this same thing—Louis XIV effectively returns some attitude and driving immediacy to the genre.

The arrangements are simple without being simplistic, the volume is always up to ten and the hooks are darn catchy. Leadoff track “Louis XIV” swaggers out of the gate with an anthemic drumbeat, minimal and gritty guitar, and Jason Hill’s confident half-spoken vocals extolling the virtues of himself. “Finding Out True Love Is Blind” is a jumping party tune of the highest order, and “Hey Teacher” delves into post-punk with natural ease. Musically, Secrets is terribly fun, and will satiate classic rock heads who have already worn out their copies of “Some Girls” and “Back In Black.”

But it’s the lyrical content of the disc that is likely to garner the most attention, at least upon first encounters. I’ll have out with it: these are some of the most sleazy, oversexed lyrics this side of a Parental Advisory sticker, and the combination of egotism and misogyny won’t go over well with Moms Against Sexual Exploitation. And Secrets really is exploitative, if the butt-naked woman on the cover is any indication, with lyrics like “Wind you up and make you crawl to me/Tie you up until you call to me” reaching a misogynistic peak.

So all the guys of Louis XIV care about is getting you to crawl into bed with them, but—take it or leave it—they force you to accept them on their own terms. They never let up, and when you realize that all hope for sensitivity is lost, you can either abandon the album and never look back or enjoy it for kicks and relatively cheap giggles.

The Best Little Secrets Are Kept won’t please everyone. In fact, it’s unlikely to please women at all, unless their tongues are firmly in cheek. Even for most men, this album will remain a guilty pleasure, but that said, it is quite pleasurable. Classic rock fans in particular should find something here to enjoy, and for anyone interested in the revival of muscular ’70s and ’80s rock music, this is as good an introduction as any.

—Mike Newmark, Staff Writer