Not caring a Ratt’s ass about power ballads or stuffing their trousers, Junkyard played a tougher-than-denim blend of black-eyed blooze that snarled like Rose Tattoo getting wasted on Skynyrd’s moonshine. If Hollywood was a helium balloon filled with glammy guitar wankers and shirtless pretty boys, Junkyard was the dirty needle aiming to take it down.
Let’s just say meeting Aerosmith was hardly a night in the ruts. The Bad Boys from Boston are a band I can’t live without. And singer Steven Tyler? My absolute favorite.