Lower East Side reprobates with a salacious monicker, Sex Slaves deliver glammy, punked-up ear candy designed to give you a hard-rock boner. Whether they succeed depends on how well you’re connected to your inner suburban adolescent. Citing influences as diverse as The Cult, The Dead Boys and The Beatles, Sex Slaves are closer kin to energetic but too-clean-sounding rock choristers like punk fanboys Die Toten Hosen or leather sex goofballs Turbonegro. Sex Slaves’ stuff rocks and it’s entertaining, even if the lyrics devolve to sub-Mötley Crüe couplets (well, the benighted Sir Mick Jagger got it right when he said that sometimes the words don’t matter). What’s missing from Sex Slaves’ good time skank ‘n’ sleaze is the profound decadence of the New York Dolls or a genuine sense of danger. This bunch is more likely to rock you like The Scorpions’ “Hurricane,” than dump you downtown at dawn, piss-stained and dissipated with Richard Hell’s Voidoids. Sex Slaves’ smooth ride merely threatens to go off the rails. As a result, their fistful of cheap thrills falls a little short on actual thrills.