If you haven’t heard of Canadians Danko Jones,listen up. It has been a long, long time since you’ve heard rockplayed like it should be – deafening, raw and rough around the edges.This skill is one that the Montrealian trio have more than mastered andthey teach it from behind their sweat-stained guitars night afternight.
Thankfully for you dear listener, Danko Jones refuse to sit on thegrossly sagging fence that a plethora of garage revival bands are indanger of crushing. Finding no existing pigeonhole to call home,Danko have carved their own path, off up the garden in an entirelydifferent 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 manicmen have been tearing up stages since just before the dawn of the 21stCentury 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 startto 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 asparkle 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 totop-class numbers, had this album been fused with the supreme cutsfrom Danko’s debut Born A Lion, then the Canadian trio could have had analbum of the year under their belts. That said, the studio is merelywhere Danko Jones commit to tape the act that they live for – playingtheir music live as loud as humanly possible with as much sweaty, screamingenergy 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 succeedswith honours.
If you haven’t discovered this Canadian gem among the pile of manure that’scurrently choking the life out of mainstream rock, then it’s time towake up and smell the, er, maple syrup?!