by Ned Raggett
If back in the late '80s one had learned that Al Jourgensen would one day be describing the Revolting Cocks with un-ironic reference to Menudo vis-à-vis his recruiting of newer members to carry on his overall approach, one would be forgiven for boggling a bit, though his penchant for working with a wide variety of people had already been established. But it would be less surprising to learn that he would have long since exchanged some sense of testing boundaries simply to recycle various parts of his musical and aesthetic approach over and over again, which the head-in-hands title Sex-O Olympic-O too easily confirms. Despite settling onto a full new main lineup on this second album since he reactivated the name, Jourgensen seems only to have worked his best to find people specializing in the worst imaginable industrial rock clichés, a farrago of dance beats and guitars and trying-for-sleaze that he once put a perfect stamp on, but which sounds utterly perfunctory even at the best times. Even the recurring glam drum stomps seem now like RevCo are trying to claim Marilyn Manson's sound instead of Gary Glitter. Lead singer Josh Bradford delivers various pronouncements in the expected distorted shriek-snarl, while his song titles -- "HookerBot3000" and "I'm Not Gay" being among the worst offenders -- just prompt shrugs. That half of Cheap Trick and Davíd Garza, among others, are listed as "proxy cocks" in the credits might be the most saddening thing of all.