When bands like the White Stripes, the Hives and the Strokes made garage rock all the rage yet again, I was sure the Fleshtones would be held up as some sort of "grandfathers of garage"-type deal where 12-year-old kids thought they were the shit and all the cool bands wore their T-shirts. After spending some time with Beachhead, I can see why it didn't happen. Turns out the Fleshtones in theory are way better than the Fleshtones in reality, and their latest painfully demonstrates that musical and mental growth are not such bad things after all. The thin, trebly production on Beachhead may be their way of staying real, but the thin sound forces you to actually listen to the vocal and lyrical stylings of Peter Zaremba - and nobody ever cared what he had to say. If anything, the Fleshtones were about energy and spirit, and if Beachhead proves anything, it's that their most endearing qualities ran dry after 83's Hexbreaker.