I can count on one hand the number of things I miss about living in Hollywood – playing shows on the Strip, residing within walking distance of Amoeba Music, eating quite possibly the best Mexican food this side of the border (Oh El Coyote, just thinking about your guacamole triggers a classic Pavlovian response).  I also miss bands like Sinicle, those rare, exotic birds of the Hollywood music scene, a scene so overwhelmingly artificial and cookie-cutter boring even Coldplay sounds interesting in comparison.

Falling somewhere between melodic hard rock and eardrum-shattering heavy metal, Sinicle didn’t, and still don’t, sound quite like any other rock band out there, especially any of those many aforementioned artificial/cookie-cutter boring ones polluting the scene with their puerile noise.  No, Sinicle stands out like a thumb sore from busting out too many colossal bass lines: One minute they can be radio-friendly; the next, they’re scaring off small children and inducing heart attacks in the elderly with monstrous riffs, thunderous beats and scathing vocal deliveries.