Well, they were never going to go all weird on us were they? You might think The Datsuns' second album would pick up from where their debut left off but, if anything, it's even more base. Quite how they've distilled some of the dumbest riffs ever written into even more primal fare is anybody's guess, though ex-Zep bassist John Paul Jones, who produced this, doubtlessly had something to do with it. This is Trog Rock.
The last generation to rip off early 70s metal quite so shamelessly was based in Seattle. But where Mudhoney (and some band called Nirvana) had more than a couple of decent songs and, how shall we put it, a hint of femininity, the leaders of the 'New Rock Revolution' seem to have dispensed with all such concepts and remain about as alluring as bathtime with Ray Winstone in "Quadrophenia".
You can almost smell the manly body odour steaming off these songs with lead single, "Blacken My Thumb", being about as adventurous as it gets, which is to say, not very. Lead guitars scream, rhythm guitars riff, drums jackhammer and Dolf whines his petulant whine. All that's missing is a salute to the devil. If The Datsuns were a drink they'd be a bottle of piss sailing into a festival crowd.
This might be ok if there was a tune to pick up on or, like The Darkness, some hint of irony. "That Sure Ain't Right" and "You Can't Find Me" have an agreeable shade of glam, but even the promisingly-titled "Hong Kong Fury" remains stuck to their pedestrian blueprint of third division boogie.
In other words, for people awaiting that second Jet album, this should prove a welcome distraction from their crayons. For the rest of us it's a look of bemusement and a scratched head.
A case of meet the new Quo same as the old Quo.
