The bad-asses in The Murder City Devils would never in a million years use the phrase "raison d'être." That said, the raison d'être of the MCD is best captured in the first song on Empty Bottles, Broken Hearts: "Gonna go to the rock 'n' roll show / I know it's late / I wanna go home / That's no reason / No reason to go home." The only logic the band recognizes is that rock 'n' roll is an end, not a means, and it's as good a reason as any to make the sacrifice because the buzz can be so great. The group dredges up the sound of the proto-punks of the late '60s and early '70s, making music that screams to be heard but doesn't care if you don't listen. There's nothing subtle about it. Stupid guitar hooks designed to rope you in despite yourself, a vocalist (Spencer Moody) who growls and shouts without a trace of "stylings," and the occasional clumsy farfisa riff that hearkens back to the brilliance of ? And The Mysterians all conjoin for one orgiastic racket that wouldn't sound out of place on the recent Nuggets box set, if only for its raw energy and attitude. Empty Bottles, Broken Hearts is not about carefully crafted songs, little flourishes that reward you for listening, or lyrics that cause you to pause and reflect. It's all about dragging yourself to the rock 'n' roll show because you'll have a great time if you do, and you'll hate yourself if you don't.