Rumours abound that during filming of the video for ‘Blacken My Thumb’, vocalist Dolf De Datsun ended up in hospital, leaving the set looking ‘like something out of a zombie movie’. It seems as though The Datsuns, barely out of britches yet seemingly adept at leaving a trail of mayhem and blood in their paths, were destined for a place in the annals of rock’n’roll myth.
Despite the darkening cloud of hype that follows the outfit, one must conclude that there’s very little on offer that renders them all that different from the guitar rock pack. Sure, they’ve got the prerequisite hair, they’ve got the moves, they’re influenced by the greats, and they’ve got the three-minute punch down to a tee, but something is most certainly missing. Perhaps it’s because so many of their indie-rock cohorts are kicking out the three-chord jams with more panache, or that the album, splendidly primal though it is, seems lacking in the crucial killer tune. Even the single ‘Blacken My Thumb’, akin though it is to a dog chewing at a trouser leg for three minutes, lacks a certain infectious quality.
Still, if the sweaty palms and ringing ears of their taste-making fan-base are anything to go by, they must be doing something right, and there’s no doubt that their taut, primordial sound will translate perfectly in a live setting. Sadly however, it would appear that Outta Sight/Outta Mind is all mouth and very few trousers. Time to ditch the britches once and for all, boys.