It’s a truism that most record labels take a few releases to find their feet and assert their character and Patrick Boissel’s LA-based Alive-Naturalsound is no different.

Starting life as the Bomp-associated imprint Alive-Total Energy in the early ’90s with a deep dive into Detroit Rock, it’s reached extensively into garage, soul and power-pop territories to be a home to The Black Keys, Swamp Dogg and Paul Collins, among others.

But it’s in the area of hard-edged, ‘70s style guitar rock that has Alive has most recently found a happy niche, with the likes of Americans Buffalo Killers (semi-pastoral crunch) and Radio Moscow (Hendrix-tinged psych jams) especially standing out. They’ve now been joined by Datura4 from Fremantle, Western Australia.

The term Oz Rock is a catch-all phrase that’s scope is broader than a Queensland cow cocky’s accent but there’s something inherently recognisable about the music. The best of it is urgent and full of dynamics.

Once upon a time it was forged in year-long tours of a vast circuit of massive beer barns; nowadays it’s as much a creation of the odd gig in small-ish, grungy bars and digitally-assisted backshed studios.

Which brings us to Melbourne band The Vendettas and their second album. This isn’t a bad record but it’s very much music made with eyes on the prize. While that target isn’t going to be mainstream airplay in their home country, it could be a contract with a label in a bigger market. Many are called but few are chosen. The Vendettas might just do the business in Europe like Airborne or follow The Lazys to Canada.

A while ago a mate gave me the thumbs up about Blondie Drummer Clem Burke's new band Empty Hearts. I figured anything Burke's involved in is gonna be top shelf stuff - and how right I was this time.

The Hearts formed in early 2014 as a supergroup of sorts, comprising Chesterfield Kings bassman  Andy Babuik, Elliott Easton (The Cars) on guitar, Burke and Wally Palmer (The Romantics) out front on vocals.

"90 Miles Down a Dead End Street" kicks things off at a frenetic pace with some focussed intent, lots of “na na na's added in. Easton's killer riff helps blast-off single "I Don't Want Your Love" off. A chorus you only dream about follows.

This is Wire’s most across-the-board album. It’s lush, glorious, dirty, savage, sublime, clever in a street-smart way, jagged in a crying-jag way, it builds and grows and gathers you up and crushes and … and ‘Wire’ is just way, way too good for a band who’ve been touring and recording since 77. Five bottles. At least. So don’t bother reading any further, right, order it here. Then, when the bastard arrives, PLAY LOUD.

See, I come from an era where BOF meant Boring Old Fart, and that meant, not so much anyone over 30 (although that was often the case) but anyone shoving out lazy LPs, with maybe two or three half-decent songs on them. Ill-considered, slothful slush. If you can’t recall offenders from those days, I can bet you can name offenders from today.

“Wire” is way, way too good for old fuckers. If a band in their 20’s presented this to any major record company they’d be signed to a 20-year deal with the Fuck You Up and Rip You Off International label in no time flat.

There should be a law against small record companies punching above their weight. And against brilliant rock’n’roll bands showing up all the mainstream slags as ugly, dull, leaden and tedious beyond belief. Why people listen to radio at all when they have bands like Movie Star Junkies to make their mixtapes steam like kids on the backseat.

Ten songs, 36 minutes. I like that. So I won’t spend too long here, other than to repeat what I’ve said before, Voodoo Rhythm do records and CDs which should fill your collection. And “Evil Moods” is another one you need to have.

Let’s be provocative right up-front and say that The Pretty Things are not entitled to still be making records this good. Not after 50 years and not even allowing time off along the way for bad behaviour.

It’s not a disc full of instantly catchy “hits” by any stretch - and if it was nobody would listen anyway. The Pretties’ name is a total misnomer. Putting aside the baby-faced engine room, this is a band of three grizzled old men.

So let’s talk about what it is.