They sound like Slash pounding Dizzy while Izzy fists Duff.
They look like a mismatched collection of Alice Cooper look-a-like dildos.
But enough of the positives.
Niterain (with a T, how hip) sound like a band created in a cauldron of sputum and genitalia while teenagers waited for their hair to grow to the correct lengths and neglected the fact that you have to be able to PLAY to be in a band. Oh, and writing original material helps too.
Rip a page out of any Guns N Roses song, Motley Crue, Poison, etc and you will no doubt find Niterain managing to mangle the song into an incomprehensibly shit version of their peers. With faces that make you condone violence and costumes fit for people about to be locked in solitary with a horny lifer, their musical journey will begin and end in a shed of nothingness, progress onto fields of blandness, and culminate with all of them driving busses or packing margarine in a factory telling their co-workers of the life on the road when they managed to pull drunk, bleach blonde country sluts into massaging their appendages while playing to a crowd of 11 people and being beaten to within an inch of their life by the towns closet homosexual with identity issues. Such is the life these guys will lead, and if they get huge by some twist of fate, then I can only pray that they splurge all their money on cocaine and whores and leave nothing but collapsed septum’s and chlamydia as their everlasting legacy.
If music were all, then they would be damned already, but lyrics are important to. In this case, they have as much talent for writing lyrics as a pissed up leprechaun passing wind into an extraction fan while mouthing the words S-H-I-T-E with his anus clenchings. Lashings of “Cry, Die, Try”, “Love, Dove, Above”, “Train, Pain, Blame”…etc..etc… ad nauseum.
No, we didn’t like it. Even if it had come out in 1987, we still wouldn’t have.