[I]”I suppose a blow job’s out of the question?”[/I] enquires Joe Elliott, struggling to contain his middle-aged spread in a tight vest. He has just succeeded in lowering the infamous line from ‘Let’s Get Rocked’ even further. Innuendo be damned – tonight, subtlety is not the highest priority.
Over 44 million album sales down the line, [a]Def Leppard[/a]operate under the bluff belief that if it ain’t broke, don’t fanny around with it. And in a world where Feeder, Bush, and their post-grunge ilk labour under the spectral presence of Kurt Cobain, the Lep sidestep all such concerns in favour of bombast, pomp and squealing solos.
Hence the ancient ‘Hysteria’ and new ‘Demolition Man’ (from ninth album ‘Euphoria’) might show minuscule forward movement for such a long career, but they are alarmingly, idiotically, Beavis-And-Butt-headly entertaining.
But only briefly. Because huddled under an enormous Union Jack backdrop which only the very foolish or tax-exiled could love, they soon wander down a charmless path. Elliott pervs about in a creepy manner which would get you locked up in less tolerant countries, while ‘Promises’ and ‘When Love And Hate Collide’ make Bryan Adams seem like fun. By the airbrushed ‘Animal’, you’re crying out for a little dash of tortured angst, feeling, or anything more than the perpetual search for a good hard rock.
No longer an intriguing spectacle, random thoughts soon take over. Principally, has anyone been watching Walking With Dinosaurs?