Rock and roll does not die; it merely gets recycled. The Gotohells know this better than anyone, having pilfered enough toys in the attic to build their own boogie-rockin’ beast. The Gotohells wear their influences (Aerosmith, The Stooges, MC5) so freely that their own musical identity fails to surface. There is a reason The Cult never seemed to be more than a cult band, and like the curators of the Sonic Temple, this greasy four-piece has metric tons of style but little substance. Yet despite the sameness of this disc’s eleven tracks, these songs sound as if they’d be explosive on stage. Perhaps that’s where the Gotohells come to life, on the road, somewhere in rock-and-roll America.