Long-time Metroplexers Speedealer redeem those of us who, during the colorless Cobain Administration, were forced to choke down the cruel, salty cocktail of derisive laughter for daring to dig anything "flashy." The band proves that with a positive attitude and elbow grease (and lots of hard drugs), it's possible to create a type of grandiose and glam-y Metal-with-a-capital-M that, incredibly, is never cheesy. Speedealer's sound does share with Cobain's grunge one chief authenticating ingredient: a touch of nihilistic, apocalyptic, balls-to-the-wall punk.

Approaching everything with a single-minded, adrenaline-fueled, frenzied focus, as if preparing to pierce their own nipples, the four Speedealers inhabit a million of the seemingly endless combinations that two guitars, one bass, and one three-piece drum kit can be shaped into. Theirs, of course, are all built from rusty metallica, spackled with punk. On Bleed, the band's first studio album in years, the fuzzy riff that lumbers through "The Inventor of Evil" is pure Sabbath. But, like in the most relevant Stooges or MC5 number, it drags along with it pained exhortations and one big foot-stomping beat like pieces of heavy, hard psychological baggage. And on Burned Alive, the band's debut live album, "Second Sight" comes on in the spirit of the best punk -- like a furious 18-wheeler on your ass -- then just as quickly downshifts into traditional metal, becoming a distant locomotive of steadily chugging rhythms and muted barre chords. Like "CCCP," "Sasparilla," and about 10 other relatively quiet yet ominous and schizophrenic tracks from Alive, "Second Sight" shows an urge to topple expectations to prove a point: It's not how crazy you sound that matters, Speedealer seems to say during these moments. It's how crazy you are.