get well soon

short as a preface to parody debate: Airbourne, their music, their lyrics, their fashion, their video clips and especially their live performances knowing, I must say: I have never seen such otherworldly exaggerated posing like of which. and I was in my course of life in more than 500 rock concerts (rather 1000 if my calculation). So I hope for the band that is meant as a parody, otherwise I would namely the conclusion, they are not very close.

but the typical marketing strategies having observed in the music business, is the circuit just very near: that is the return of to-tight-pants-hard rocks under the sign of persiflage. It is similar to darkness: the parody is so loving that it does not admit to be a parody. History repeats itself just yet - as a parody of itself.

the new album starts with two tracks that make the eternal AC / DC copyists accusation almost ridiculous - is offered riffrock in the border area for metal, completely free of blues and boogie, and so far away from AC / DC. the third song in turn is then more AC / DC than AC / DC itself. It begins with a typical whining angus-lick, and over it then build on the classic dry Malcolm chords. AC / DC, Paint by Number.

as if they want to show that they can, they unregistering then again from the pure copying machine. it is and remains riffrock, sometimes closer to the metal, sometimes closer to the rock roll.

What makes this album problematic: one he remembers the pressure on, after the bestseller "Running Wild" to repeat the success. The songs are not bad, but also not very good. they have something slightly cramped, which are force Meier poses as that is content rather mediocre. there also change the bonus tracks not: some songs make quite fun, and can play, yes, but above all the way it is then too hard and especially to stereotype. always the same.

texts to that really leave no silly rock cliché: see above, keyword parody.

a word to cover: in a yellowish polluted industrial desert the band stands around in the area. three carry the rock-uniform (black shirt, black jeans) and stare into nothing. the Lord singer stretches the guitar skyward, spans the luftgepinselten sixpack and looks to boot, as if he had pain in the butt (torn mouth, eyes twisted). in the background you can see (make Airbourne with this album heavily on workers' ethos) a smoking refinery. the very front is a wet mature blonde across the picture, in step a bill.

. anyway who wants to take it seriously: my condolences, and get well soon