The current wave of '80s revivalism has spawned a rich tapestry of young acts sonically nursed at the teet of Talking Heads, Gang of Four and their ilk. The result has seen a batch of catchy, well-structured tunes, that hark back to the glory days of Byrne, King and performers of a similar vintage. Another genre that dominated that decade, but definitely does not merit revisiting, is the aural abomination that is stadium rock. Unfortunately, here it is, courtesy of the heirs to Busted’s throne… Rooster... rehashed, repackaged, as revolting as ever.
The vacuous debut offering is packed from start to finish with stylistic clichés. It is a musical pick and mix of the traits synonymous with the rock that dare not speak its name... Aerosmith riff here, Coverdale-esque vocal there, wait for the Poison-ous guitar solo.
The two singles culled from the album, ‘Come Get Some’ and ‘Staring At The Sun’, garnered a puzzling level of chart success but were carefully chosen. These adhere most stringently to the Top Tips section of the DIY Guide To Stadium Rock and are virtually a patchwork quilt of hooks and chord progressions from poodle hits past.
A point worth noting is that the majority of the band’s following are adolescent females who were not around for the first screening of this horrorthon, so a certain novelty factor may come into play. Nothing, however, can excuse their adopted moniker... Roosterettes.
This album is completely void of any redeeming qualities and does not possess a shred of originality. Citing Led Zepplin and AC/DC as influences surely has to be a botched PR attempt at garnering credibility. It is tantamount to speaking ill of the dead to associate Bon Scott with such jaded and formulaic tripe.