Billy Talent - BillyTalent

Sat 22nd May, 2004 in Music Reviews

Excuse me for being a little slow, but when did record labels start to market good ol’ honest rock’n’roll as punk? Was it when The Clash put out London Calling? I dunno, but I sure as shit weren’t at that meeting. And neither were Billy Talent nor their label. Punk rock? You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how many times Buzzcocks were name checked on their CV, but to listen to this album, the only link could be the fact that both bands have sung about girls. So, too, have Prince, Son House, Melissa Etheridge and The Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

Buzzcocks records – to the best of my ever-diminishing knowledge – are tiny and cheap and puerile. But beautiful. Billy Talent are bold, brash, full of chunky riffs and interventionist cock-rock screams. But never beautiful. They are Americans wanting to suffer the sleet and unemployment of Birmingham or Manchester, though they never will. Their lead singer has the finest greaser coiffure since the comic turn Tom Waits gave the ‘do in Down By Law. Yeah, that’s it: comic.

Not in a derogatory way, but in the fact that all the lines are etched sharply and everything is in its place. There is no bleeding, nor ambiguity. It is iconic. It says, I am Joe Strummer R.I.P. But of course, as always, there is a catch. It is Ian D’Sa’s voice. Fucking hell, at times it drives me right mad. You know how sometimes you catch yourself enjoying something like The Darkness (try telling me some of those songs aren’t gold, Jerry!), and then Justin Hawkins lets rip with that codpiece-strangled voice? D’Sa could never hits those heights, but damn would he love to.

Billy Talent have nearly a whole debut album full of classic rock, it’s just that D’Sa and the band are clinging to the hope that they’re going to single-handedly revitalise classic British punk. I wish.

Cue: Cut The Curtains. If you could buy a metal riff ready-powdered in a bag (just add water!), the same way you can for mashed potato, this is what you would get. Any band seriously wanting to name-check the vintage vat would never (never, nver) ever include such a dumb rock song on their album. Not even Limp Bizkit would dare show such cheek. It’s not that it is such a bad song. It’s just weak. And when you’re wavering each minute as to what to make of this album – yeah, good riffs, I can see what’s happening here – oh man, what the… he sounds like a bloody nine year old wanting more lollies – shit, that’s some chunky nasty guitars over there, yeah this is good – the inclusion of Cut The Curtains toward the end of the album makes the decision very easy for you.

It’s not that they’re awful; it’s just the fact that we have bands like The Living End who are equally alright. Y’know?