JUNKYARD “Junkyard.” Geffen ***: *****Great Balls of Fire:**** Knockin’ On Heaven’s *** Good Vibrations ** Maybe Baby * Ain’t That a Shame

Ever since Guns N’ Roses made noisy teen Angst a billion-dollar industry, the streets of Hollywood have coughed up a legion of boogie-fried Guns N’ Roses and lipstick-wearing Guns N’ Roses and post-industrial Guns N’ Roses--the Armenian Guns N’ Roses is probably lurking somewhere around the intersection of Selma and Vine even as you read this. But most of these young Axls-manque, no matter how artfully scuffed their leathers and keenly felt their pain, come across as rock ‘n’ roll careerists punching power chords instead of time clocks.

People tend to consider Junkyard (which headlines the Palace on Aug. 16) a Texas-bred Guns N’ Roses--same scene, same label, same greasy hair. Junkyard, though, is grounded in hard-core punk rather than Aerosmith (some of its members came from seminal hard-core bands Big Boys and Minor Threat), and the group seems to play hard rock as a roots music the way X used to play country: respectfully and well. Junkyard’s best songs suggest both the sweetly awkward power of AC/DC and the minor-key yearning of mid-period Van Halen and have the sort of catchy but loud radio hooks associated with, well, Guns N’ Roses.