When reviewing an Airbourne album, it's tempting to paraphrase the 18th-century clergy- man: "Never listen to an album before you review it. It prejudices one so." Airbourne's third finds them in hoc to fellow Aussies AC/DC as much as ever. Here comes the intro riff. There goes the big fist-pumping chorus. Now, right on cue, it's time for the guitar solo. Their energy is exhausting, their subtlety non-existent. The opening track is a reprise of the hoariest cliché in music ( Ready to Rock ).Their lyrical preoccupations can be summed up as such: rock'n'roll will never die, but we might because we're partying so hard. Blimey, AC/DC are like avant-garde jazz Swedes compared with this crew. And with so much of today's music immersed in check-shirted miserableness, it's no harm having an old-fashioned, good-time rock band around to remind us that music is supposed to be fun. They may be one-trick ponies, but knowing Airbourne, they'll take that as a complement.
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