Six albums in, and Airbourne have decided to go down the self-titled route. But even if it were law that it only applies to debut releases, this Australian wrecking ball would not give a rat’s arse about the rules anyway.
Airbourne – Airbourne
Release Date: Out Now
Words: Brian Boyle
Being labelled “the bastard sons of AC/DC” is a phrase that will swing over Airbourne until the day they decide to put their well-shaken heads into retirement.
The comparisons have been slung at them for years, and while some of it is well justified and most certainly self-inflicted, in their defence, they have never been overly blatant copycats.
For a start, there is no schoolboy gimmick or voluptuous inflatable women, and I have never seen Brian Johnson crack a can of Newcastle Brown ale off his head. It just always has been a profoundly on-the-sleeve admiration for Australia’s great ever export.
As ever, the purpose of Airbourne’s mission is to pulverise you good and proper, and the grenade of an opening track GUTSY leaves plenty of debris in its wake.
You know from the off, and of course from the previous five albums, that we are not getting anything beyond what has gone before. But that is fine. We do not want experimentation. What we do want is our regular dose of menace and mayhem, like the balls-to-the-wall fury of Alive After Death (Last Plane Out), or the wonderfully immature Kid In A Candy Store.
Lyrically, they never had much between the ears, but that is part of their charm. Stuff like “Hey sugar, I’ve been here before, but next time I come, I’ll use the back door,” is as close as this band get to deep thinking. But they were not put on earth to be an intellectual comfort blanket.
Pure bar room rock ‘n’ roll abandon is all that is required and all you are gonna get. Sky High and Last Man Standing meet that criteria. They are classic Airbourne, total familiarity, but with instant impact, and loaded with enough fuel to make you go completely off your nut.
In the chorus department, they are still a one-trick pony, aimlessly shouting the title out in the hope that you will shout it along with them twice as loud. But it has always worked, and it still does.
Rock ‘N’ Roll Ya and Bogata are both built for an open-mouthed noisy gathering, all trying to get above Joel O’Keeffe’s razor-chewing vocals.
Whether you want it or not, you are getting a Christmas song, in the form of Christmas Bonus, three minutes and thirty-three-seconds you are not getting back. Safe to say that Noddy Holder will not be shitting himself after hearing it.
That said, after a slab of Victoria Bitter and a few Tasmanian single malts, it might sound like the greatest song ever written. But if you are of the bah humbug persuasion, Who Put The Rhythm In You? should lighten your mood. This is easily a track that would have bettered any AC/DC release in the Johnson era, post For Those About To Rock.
The only sniff of the mainstream is the radio-friendly Here She Comes. Not a lightweight by any means, it still lands hard and heavy, and deserves a good run on the rock charts.
After one spin of closer, Send Me To Rock ‘N’ Roll Heaven, you are left in no doubt that this album is very much a case of rinse and repeat. The tunes are big and lairy, but some have a short shelf life and will be completely forgotten about when the next batch are hatched.
The song may remain the same, but Airbourne continue to bring one hell of a party.
Airbourne is out now via Spinefarm. For more details, visit airbourne.lnk.to/Airbourne.
