Danko Jones - We Sweat Blood

Sure, there aren’t any authentic originals left in rock and roll anymore. We all know that. Everything and anything "rock" has already been done to death by now, most often better (which is why rock radio is dead and the kids aren’t filling the venues for live shows these days). Yet, we all know that none of us rockrollers, no matter how disappointing the seemingly endless string of sounds-like-something-from-the-past-next-big-thing-ers is, are willing to give up the ghost just yet. Sadistic? Maybe. Foolish? Without a doubt.

So whaddya do? What’s an old rock and roll heart supposed to beat to when every new beat is a repeat? That’s a tough nut to crack friends; one that I’ve about given up on. So my only advice to you my fellow maturing rockers is this: if it doesn’t sound fresh, it better sound damn good!

Danko Jones sounds damn good. Better than damn good in fact. Danko Jones’ We Sweat Blood sounds like a sonic Cliff’s Notes to everything exceptional about hard rock since Black Sabbath invented the idea of "hard rock". Hell, not just the Sabbath, but the entire quarter century’s worth of quality power chord pomp and boogie. They’re AC/DC stripped of Angus Young’s signature shriek ("Forget My Name" falls right off of Back in Black : "Hotshot walking up and down the block / I like how her miniskirt keeps crawling up"); Kiss without the faux sexual prowess while "Living in the City" and on "Strut" (Danko’s prowess– and yes, Danko Jones is the name of the band as well as that of it’s front man – isn’t braggadocios and comic book like Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley’s always was, it’s swelteringly real); early Van Halen less Eddie’s histrionics and Roth’s cock-sure immaturity ("Heartbreak’s a Blessing"); and even Weezer and the Jam if Paul Weller and Rivers Cuomo had ever been truly and properly laid ("I Want You").

That’s certainly not to say that Danko Jones is the equal of all the aforementioned bands on We Sweat Blood; there are moments they are better, there are moments they are worse. It’s merely a demonstration of how one phenomenally solid power trio can pretty much succeed at making everything old sound somewhat new again – or at least succeed in convincing the listener that they’ve pulled it off.

One such listener, none other than the formidable Keith Richards, reportedly bought it when he’d heard Jones’ previous effort, Born a Lion (a bit more punky and damn good itself, but not We Sweat Blood’s equal by any measure), and got Jones’ and the boys to open for the Stones back in 2002 up in Canada. And while such a boost clearly helped the band’s profile, from the sound of things on We Sweat Blood, and in the sonic distance that lies between it and Born a Lion, the boost wasn’t merely in the pairs of public eyes upon them, it was a also a serious dose of adrenaline and pure testosterone. We Sweat Blood might as well come packaged in a scrotum because this stuff is pure balls people!

So with the rock and roll landscape left with very little to navigate, it apparently takes some kid from Canada - with the gall to name his band after himself – and a couple of like-minded friends to pull together some crummy amps, a couple of beat up guitars, a trashed drum set and a thrift store collection of old LP’s that range from Aersomith’s Rocks (Danko, ever the coy lyricist, drops lines from a few classic rock tracks all across this beauty – including a little ode to Steve Tyler and the boys on "Heartbreak’s a Blessing": "I was a high school loser / never made it with a lady", with Danko slyly changing Tyler’s next line, "till the boys told me something I missed", to, "when I did I got the best") to The Romantics "What I Like About You" to make a damn near dead artform (hard rock, that is) sound vital and viable once again.

Bravo!

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