Major Stars’ head honcho, Wayne Rogers, knows his way around a solo. His skyward bursts blossom in a heaven far removed from the quagmires of impotent filler occupied by so many contemporary six-string slingers. His fleet, incendiary streams feel spontaneous, alive, even vital. They are the antithesis of say, present-day Kirk Hammett’s sexless, soulless wah-wah semaphore, a web of corpulent corporate contusion phoned in for the latest Metallica bloat.
Some bands stubbornly resist musical change no matter how long they’ve been together. Thank goodness Boston’s Major Stars are one of them. For nearly two decades, their screaming, distorted, power-hungry, pedal-pushing brand of post-psychedelia has garnered them a steady, enthusiastic, if not large fan base. They aren't ambitious, either -- they issue a record when they have enough new songs to consider releasing them.