The Murder City Devils strike me as the seedy side of Sha Na Na with raging alcoholism instead of stupid outfits; you don't wanna mess with these guys, even though they say they'd rather drink than fight. There's plenty o' empties in the backseat, and speaking of empties, Empty Bottles, Broken Hearts is a beer-soaked, punk-rock-lovin' good time. You want the Farfisa? You want the sneers? The be-bop hellion on a moonlit Saturday night, all James Dean and not so clean? The looks of a rumble in the making? You want a side of music with it?

The record kicks off with "I Want a Lot Now (So Come On)," a classic example of how to start an album. Stompin' drums, shouted lyrics, loud guitar. What more do you need? "Cradle to the Grave" is a slower form of moaner all lathered up and ready to be rinsed in staccato organ stabs. It's too drunk to swagger, but somehow they pull it off. I really can't emphasize this beer angle enough, for it's beer that makes songs like "Another Round on You" and "Left Hand, Right Hand" possible. The titles "18 Wheels," "Johnny Thunders," and "Every Shitty Thing" deliver what's promised with a little extra liver-lovin' spirit. My heart ain't broken, but Bottles is smokin'.