Wolfmother: Wolfmother

There’s a moment eight songs and three minutes, 15 seconds into Sydney power trio Wolfmother’s debut – on former single and standout tune ‘Mind’s Eye’ – that can’t be described as anything other than shocking. It’s a song we’ve played many times in the NME office, soundtracking our daily quest to invent ridiculous sub-strand-genres of pop, and yearning for canteen mashed potato. Yet every time the big, hoary guitars of the chorus fade to dust, when singer Andrew Stockdale’s iron-riveted rasp takes its last breath and the syrupy fairground waltz organ middle-eight kicks into life, well, we couldn’t be more shocked if Tim Jonze admitted he might be wrong about liking the new Keane album.

Because if this 12 track, 52 minute-long slab of grizzled rawk girth exists for any reason, then it’s to shock and surprise. Consider opening salvo ‘Dimension’, a throb of gonzo metal not unlike Black Sabbath playing Motown, or the heads down, 200mph, White Stripes-indebted stutter punk of ‘Apple Tree’; these are songs seemingly designed to stir Lenin from his rigid slumber. They’re songs that tick the requisite boxes for all great rock’n’roll – raucous, righteous and totally, thrillingly dumb. They’re songs infused with bite and bile, quite ridiculous, very bombastic – and let’s make this point one more time – utterly, utterly thrilling. That they’ve chosen the shawl of operatic-prog-blues-metal is most shocking at all. Gee, Wolfmother’s debut wails. Shock’n’roll, alright!

James Jam