For all intents and purposes, "hair" metal (and AOR as far as the mainstream were concerned) was completely dead in the water by 1994. Those longstanding L.A. Sunset Strip acts that had been snorting coke off strippers while swimming in giant jello pools only four years earlier were trying to change with the times and it wasn't working out so well (see Ultraphobic from Warrant or Dawn from Danger Danger). And the super players like Ratt and Guns N' Roses? Either on hiatus or scrambling to find somewhere to fit themselves in the wake of the new grunge/alt. rock/boy band paradigm.

However, if one kept an ear to the ground long enough...signs of life could still be heard. Glam only had the barest hint of a pulse at this point in the decade, but almost all of it was because of great outfits from other parts of the U.S. that simply didn't give a fuck about what was charting or what wasn't. Bands like Texas's resident sleaze pranksters Dangerous Toys for instance!

Having a heavier, blues-rock n' roll edge to their sound than their Californian neighbors, these boys had one of the best debuts in the glam metalverse back in 1989. Led by the spastic, high energy vocals of Jason McMaster (founding singer of progressive thrash metal band Watchtower back in 1985) and one hell of a backing rhythm section, they would continue to kick ass all the way up to this album in 1994...albeit with some very bitter feelings toward the music industry and the "ADD riddled" population by the time they arrived to Pissed. Less polished and noticeably "heavier" than their debut and sophomore albums (which is ironic considering Pissed was produced by frequent Yes collaborator Billy Sherwood) this was an excellent bronze age set of headbangers that was let loose unto the world...and then promptly ignored by radio stations and the media.

But hey, that's cool. Great music gets forgotten all the time. Half a century from now when glam comes back in style, people will look back on facesmashing classics like the title track, 'Paintrain', 'Illustrated Man' and the smooth pickin' 'Hard Luck Champion' as the masterpieces they are, and everyone and their robot clones/overlords will be covering them at an H.R. Giger bar near you. I'll even bet you that space freighters truckin' between here and Jupiter will be blasting their Trans-Ams to the flow of 'Oh Well, So What!" and its flesh eating punk-blues riff as they charge their hyperdrives.

And I, in my cybernetic wheelchair-car as an elder statesman for all that is heavy metal, smooth jazz, progressive rock and chocolate covered ants, will probably still be jamming this as a harem of beautiful women descend their pleasures upon me....and make me forget, at least for 40+ minutes, that I'm living in a future full of robot clones.