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If you haven't heard of Canadians Danko Jones,
listen up. It has been a long, long time since you've heard rock
played like it should be - deafening, raw and rough around the edges.
This skill is one that the Montrealian trio have more than mastered and
they teach it from behind their sweat-stained guitars night after
night.
Thankfully for you dear listener, Danko Jones refuse to sit on the
grossly sagging fence that a plethora of garage revival bands are in
danger of crushing. Finding no existing pigeonhole to call home,
Danko have carved their own path, off up the garden in an entirely
different direction, and if you've got any sense you'll follow. Closely.
Celebrating all that is true to his experience - that being girls,
sex and the art of seducing the opposite sex - Mr Jones and his manic
men have been tearing up stages since just before the dawn of the 21st
Century but have criminally been denied the exposure they deserve,
what with the lingering infestations of nu-metal and current emo-related fads.
We Sweat Blood is nothing short of an anthemic war cry from start
to end with 12 (or 14 if you're American) songs that all scream at the top of their lungs and prove that kick-ass rock 'n' roll is most definitely still a serious contender in the ring.
Forget My Name is a perfect introduction to the unapologetic, pouting enigma that is Danko. With a
sparkle in his eye and the most hyperactive tongue this side of Gene Simmons' glory days, for pure entertainment value alone, Danko and his band-mates are up there with the best of 'em.
Although lacking somewhat in complete consistency with regards to
top-class numbers, had this album been fused with the supreme cuts
from Danko's debut Born A Lion, then the Canadian trio could have had an
album of the year under their belts. That said, the studio is merely
where Danko Jones commit to tape the act that they live for - playing
their music live as loud as humanly possible with as much sweaty, screaming
energy as they can muster.
Dance is the missing shindig anthem that will complete your next house party, while I Want You will stick to you faster than a velcro bullet. The album fillers are present but pleasant enough, but it's the back-end of this album that witnesses things getting nasty. The title track, for instance, is pure venomous rage that seeks to destroy the very concept of dispassionate, manufactured rock 'n' roll, and succeeds
with honours.
If you haven't discovered this Canadian gem among the pile of manure that's
currently choking the life out of mainstream rock, then it's time to
wake up and smell the, er, maple syrup?!
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