In a world where there are no more heroes, the Fleshtones walk the earth like Roman gods. Since their inception in 1976 in Queens, New York, and their sweaty, boozy gestation at legendary venues such as CBGB, Max’s Kansas City, and the storied Club 57— recently feted at the Museum of Modern Art, where their proto-video underground film “Soul City” was unspooled for art stars, glitterati, and a raft of punk rockers who managed to get past the front gate — they have perpetrated their proprietary brand of Super Rock, a frenetic amalgam of garage punk and soul, punctuated by the big beat and unleashed with the spectacular show business majesty which has kept them on the road for over forty years, adored by audiences whose love for them borders on religious fervor.

It’s Getting Late (…and More Songs About Werewolves) is a smash that could have dropped at any point in their epic career — it is an outburst, and a celebration of the Super Rock sound. Unlike their contemporaries, they have not dialed down the tempos to compensate for osteoporosis, they have not lost anything on their fastball, and continue to throw it for strikes. The hardest working band in garage rock has never sounded better, and now you see why they've been your favorite band's favourite band for decades.