Sonny Vincent’s address book is fuller than a well-hung pornstar’s underpants so it’s no surprise to see him working with another star-studded gang on his latest album.

With his band drawn from the ranks of the Sex Pistols, the Stooges and The Damned, “Spiteful” is a gold-plated punk rock blast from go to whoa.

Lola In Slacks is a very new band which is starting to cause a stir in Glasgow; there's somewhat of a sense of mystery around this ambitious, literate outfit.

Charismatic singer Lou Reid (!) is the focal point, with songwriting partner and guitarist Brian McFie providing skilful garage grind and spiraling melody. Lesley McLaren has a growing reputation in her own right as a great rock 'n' roll drummer, and the band is fleshed out by Davy Irvin on bass, Villy Karagouni on keyboards and Martin Stuart Taggart on additional guitar.

If you’re a fan of the hard stuff, heated up to an inch of its life and played fast, the guess is you’ll take to Modfag like a vulture to fresh roadkill. These Texan punks recall any number of Eurotrash bands from the ‘90s, with a dash of glam and a goodly dose of US ‘60s punk applied.

The not-very-mild-mannered chap behind this is Joke Lanz and he will be 50 next year.

Sounds like he’s 22 and rising furious.

Wolfli’s Nightmare is brutish, powered by the sort of simplistic emotional reasoning which makes your guts churn prior to crying. Pushy, nasty robot rhythms don’t so much take you away as take you out the back and give you a kicking. 

Well, the 500 double LPs are gone already, I see from the Beast Records website. 

Which isn’t surprising, because if there’s a band who should stay on vinyl, it’s Movie Star Junkies.

This release has all of their singles “From Dolls Come In” to “Everything is Holy” - including the B-sides and split singles - in the one spot. You can always tell a boring band when their singles don’t do much for you. The single, for those who might have forgotten, is always intended to be a slice of music and song which rips at you, doesn’t give you any let-up.

Who knows if there was a pitch to the label? If there was, it probably went something like this: Find a gap in powerpop troubadour Paul Collins’ crazy schedule, put him in the studio with garage production king Jim Diamond and the house band for Detroit’s Ghetto Recorders, give them a cases of beer and let the music flow.

Collins (The Beat, the Nerves, The Breakaways) writes perfect rocking’ guitar pop like hipsters steal oxygen. It’s in his DNA; he has equals but there’s nobody better. A good proportion of these songs would be mainstream hits in a more enlightened and less disposable time.