To start this review off with a totally "Well, Duh!" statement a lot of moderne' trashy rock-n-roll bands borrow heavily from the sounds of the 1960's then they go and make it sound all trashy. See, I said it was a totally "Well, duh!" opening statement didn't I?
The thing is with Charlie and the Moonhearts though is that it's a exact opposite thing. They sound like a band from '67 who were fed on things the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones and CCR taught them and they're not too impressed with the Beatles using orchestral instruments, the Doors pretentious poetry & bullshit intellectualism and hippies they started to see influencing all the other kids in the neighborhood. They chose to have themselves frozen in time only to be thawed when rock-n-roll (and not just ROCK music) made a comeback. The rock-n-roll was in their heart & soul and it pained both to make them think they'd have to adapt by painting flowers on their cheeks and playing 20 minute psychedelic snooze jams.
The problem was though that the every once in awhile there was a hot & hopeful rumor that rock-n-roll was on it's way in some moron would along and mess it up. With so many false alarms and the price of cryogenics getting so costly the Moonhearts family had no choice to defrost the boys in the late 90's. Luckily the lab was right next to a record store that still stocked records (and by 2010 standards-even still in business) and their ears were filled with wild sounds of the day that shunned highfalutin recording techniques (some out of necessity-some for recognition) in lieu for a straight on one take blast of good/bad time celebrations.
Side one's "Real Hot Breakers" is a get up early and hit the waves call to arms that would fit totally on one of those Capitol Records Surf/Drag collections that came out back at those times with his harmony chocked vocals and wet echo but instead of a Gary Usher high-gloss sheen of a sound cruising to Muscle Beach in a metal flaked set of wheels built and expensively billed by George Barris they hit the waves in a rat ride with beer cans substituting as a plush dashboard cover. The flipside's "My Love Is Gone" stuffs the forlorn folk jangler formula then kicks it down a rocky and steep hill bouncing, bumping and banging it's way down til it comes to an abrupt halt.