Bands embrace musical influences

It sounds like Bon Scott's back from the dead, lunging through the speakers to kick holes in the wall and ralph on your carpet.

Fitting the noose around chastity's neck, the AC/DC- aping heathens in Airbourne bash out randy odes to cheap wine and cheaper women that eschew sobriety and ingenuity in the same beer-scented breath.

Listening to the group's recently released debut, "Runnin' Wild," got me to thinking about other bands that I dig who proudly flaunt their influences like merit badges.

In honor of Airbourne's stop at the Beauty Bar Wednesday night, here are some more awesomely derivative acts:

Radio Birdman: They got their name from a Stooges tune, and true to form, this Aussie fire bomb borrowed liberally from those Rust Belt rogues: all barbed-wire guitar, nervous, jittery rhythms and a singer who sounds as if he's ready to jump out of his skin and right down your throat.

The end result? Both seductive and confrontational freak outs that made Radio Birdman one of the most overlooked bands of their day. You know, kind of like The Stooges.

Exhumed: This bunch began as a glorified (or perhaps gore-ified would be more fitting) Carcass cover band, right down to the gargling-with-battery-acid vocals and fascination with shredded humans, with the band's repertoire coming on like a Cuisinart for corpses.

But whereas Carcass incorporated more traditional heavy metal flourishes into their last two LPs with Iron Maiden-esque guitar harmonies, Exhumed always has stuck with the stomach-churning, plasma-coated grind found on such pleasant, dinner time LPs as their heroes' seminal "Reek of Putrefaction." Carcass worship is practically its own subgenre (see Aborted, Impaled, etc.), but these dudes are the maestros of that band's symphony of sickness.

Elliott Smith: Nick Drake always has haunted Elliott Smith's works like the moodiest of poltergeists. With his tremulous voice, acoustic yet symphonic arrangements and lyrics as raw as a skinned knee, it's hard to listen to Smith and not think of the equally gifted and troubled Drake.

Even their fates would be the same: Both died young, having taken their own lives, but not before bringing so many others a solace that they could never seem to find for themselves.

Sons of Otis: This Canadian power trio's reason for being pretty much can be traced to a single disc: Monster Magnet's monolithic "Spine of God," the best thing to hit stoners since the advent of Cheetos.

With echoey, space-case vocals, a bottom-end more subterranean than the Mariana Trench and Titantic, lumbering riffs practically marinated in serotonin, Otis righteously mines the Magnet before they started singing about humping volcanos and such. Just check out the band's aptly titled "Songs For Worship." It's like a wheelbarrow full of elephant tranquilizers in vinyl form.

Contact reporter Jason Bracelin at jbracelin@reviewjournal.com or (702) 383-0476.