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Who would have thought that Def Leppard are not only still around, but also responsible for providing the template for the most successful bunch of rawk revivalists 21st century has to offer? Not many voices would have been heard in support of such outlandish scenario a few years ago, but the spandex-sporting sound of Sheffield's premium perm-topped bubblegum metal outfit is indeed what the Darkness have opted for emulating on this, their second outing.
To describe the birth of 'One Way Ticket To Hell...And Back' as complicated would be an understatement equivalent to announcing that the sting of German metal-ballad champions the Scorpions has dulled a tad since the 'taches of their twin-guitar patrol were shorn. Not only did the cheese-crusted quartet temporarily disband, but Lowestoff's oracles of overstatement also suffered setbacks in the snot-stopper department in the form of bassist Frankie Poullain, whose sacking was the least amiable since David Lee Roth's unceremonious booting from Van Halen's learjet, whilst Justin Hawkins kept busy by releasing a non-starter of a solo single, spending some nose product-related time in rehab, obviously an absolute must for any aspiring rock god, and releasing some of that mounting pressure by putting the verbal boot in every available multi-platinum certified stadium-filler.
This troubled genesis is reflected in some shocking seriousness in the lyrics, even if the album's initial onslaught of prancing 1980's poodle-haired pomp rock pastiches, populated by pre-chorus lifts designed for jumping off the drum riser in unison, frantic fretboard wankery, choruses constructed for bellowing en masse by adoring arena-sized throngs and liberal sprinklings of Justin Hawkins' paint-peeling falsetto, frequently multi-tracked for optimal impact, softens the, ahem, blow of the introspection detectable on the 'my drugs hell' confessions of the title track.
Any threat of impending maturity, however, is quickly annihilated by the colossal silliness that follows. Assisted by producer Roy Thomas Baker and a seemingly bottomless budget, The Darkness hit some scaling heights of sonic experimentation, although the boundaries explored here are purely those of bad taste. As if the diabolical din of bagpipe guitars on the cringe-inducing 'Hazel Eyes' wasn't enough, the satanically squelchy synth guitar solo on 'Girlfriend' marks the point where recording apparatus could well be expected to refuse further co-operation. The bombast-choked power ballad 'Blind Man', meanwhile, rolls forth enough extra embellishments - brass, strings, choirs, kitchen sink - to make Baker's terminally turgid previous clients Queen resemble a pretty tasteful bunch of musos prone to sparse understatement, as well as bringing the debate on whether the Darkness are taking the piss to a firmly affirmative conclusion.
Still, it could be worse. Had they persisted with debut Permission To Land's brash AC/DC/Thin Lizzy riffola, the joke would have staled horribly. Instead, despite gags that backfire into sheer aural horror, One Way Ticket To Hell...And Back manages to add a few more years to the band's sell-by date by proving that the Darkness are capable of more than just the one trick - surely something of a towering triumph on their modest novelty act standards.
Who would have thought that Def Leppard are not only still around, but also responsible for providing the template for the most successful bunch of rawk revivalists 21st century has to offer? Not many voices would have been heard in support of such outlandish scenario a few years ago, but the spandex-sporting sound of Sheffield's premium perm-topped bubblegum metal outfit is indeed what the Darkness have opted for emulating on this, their second outing.To describe the birth of 'One Way Ticket To Hell...And Back' as complicated would be an understatement equivalent to announcing that the sting of German metal-ballad champions the Scorpions has dulled a tad since the 'taches of their twin-guitar patrol were shorn. Not only did the cheese-crusted quartet temporarily disband, but Lowestoff's oracles of overstatement also suffered setbacks in the snot-stopper department in the form of bassist Frankie Poullain, whose sacking was the least amiable since David Lee Roth's unceremonious booting from Van Halen's learjet, whilst Justin Hawkins kept busy by releasing a non-starter of a solo single, spending some nose product-related time in rehab, obviously an absolute must for any aspiring rock god, and releasing some of that mounting pressure by putting the verbal boot in every available multi-platinum certified stadium-filler.
This troubled genesis is reflected in some shocking seriousness in the lyrics, even if the album's initial onslaught of prancing 1980's poodle-haired pomp rock pastiches, populated by pre-chorus lifts designed for jumping off the drum riser in unison, frantic fretboard wankery, choruses constructed for bellowing en masse by adoring arena-sized throngs and liberal sprinklings of Justin Hawkins' paint-peeling falsetto, frequently multi-tracked for optimal impact, softens the, ahem, blow of the introspection detectable on the 'my drugs hell' confessions of the title track.
Any threat of impending maturity, however, is quickly annihilated by the colossal silliness that follows. Assisted by producer Roy Thomas Baker and a seemingly bottomless budget, The Darkness hit some scaling heights of sonic experimentation, although the boundaries explored here are purely those of bad taste. As if the diabolical din of bagpipe guitars on the cringe-inducing 'Hazel Eyes' wasn't enough, the satanically squelchy synth guitar solo on 'Girlfriend' marks the point where recording apparatus could well be expected to refuse further co-operation. The bombast-choked power ballad 'Blind Man', meanwhile, rolls forth enough extra embellishments - brass, strings, choirs, kitchen sink - to make Baker's terminally turgid previous clients Queen resemble a pretty tasteful bunch of musos prone to sparse understatement, as well as bringing the debate on whether the Darkness are taking the piss to a firmly affirmative conclusion.
Still, it could be worse. Had they persisted with debut Permission To Land's brash AC/DC/Thin Lizzy riffola, the joke would have staled horribly. Instead, despite gags that backfire into sheer aural horror, One Way Ticket To Hell...And Back manages to add a few more years to the band's sell-by date by proving that the Darkness are capable of more than just the one trick - surely something of a towering triumph on their modest novelty act standards.
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