I was accosted last New Year’s Eve, stood as I was at the bar of the Thomas House, by my old pal, DJ and scenester Gerry Molumby. He paid several compliments to my work in general but loudly proclaimed that I had a blindspot - or should that be deaf spot - when it came to The Darkness. Without hesitation I punched him in the gut and, as he sank to the floor, I signaled to my people to have him removed from my sight, for I shall tolerate no such nonsense. 

Why, last year’s Easter Is Cancelled album put The Darkness right back up where they belong, in terms of quality if not sales, although they have been climbing too. You could scratch your chin and stroke your beard as you negotiated the concept involved - something to do with multi-verse theory and an arse-kicking alternate reality Jesus - or rock out and kick stuff over to cast-iron classics like `How Can I Lose Your Love’ and `Ìn Another Life’. Either way, ignore Gerry’s confusion, because people of refinement and taste are on a winner.

Hot Press was fortunate to hitch a ride on the Irish leg of this Easter tour and I had my arse handed to me by a band rocking out like there was no tomorrow. But tomorrow, and the next day, arrived nevertheless and tonight I found myself in Eastern Frankfurt at the Batschkapp for the final night of the European leg. There were very few creases detectable in those first shows but what ones there were have been completely ironed out. The first half of the show features the album in its entirety and, as perhaps audiences have had time to absorb it to their hearts, it goes down a lot better but it also rocks a lot harder, the band having found their way further into it. 'Rock N' Roll Deserves To Die‘ - it clearly does not given tonight’s showing - roars out of its acoustic beginning. Justin Hawkins - resplendent in a white suit that leaves little to the imagination and either has an aubergine stuffed in its codpiece or offers irrefutable proof that Hawkins is descended from horses - had muttered some old rot about using a Stratocaster with an extra fret during the VIP meet n’ greet earlier, but the benefits of this extra length (steady!) are obvious even to non-musos as his guitar wrangling has more squiggles in it than the world Spirograph Championships.

"Guten Abend, this is the last show, let’s make it special, we are The Fucking Darkness!“ Hurtling into 'How Can I Lose Your Love‘, Dan Hawkins already rockin’ out like his life depended on it, one foot on the monitor in classic tennis-racket-in-front-of-mirror pose. He plays his arse off tonight. His brother has already lost the jacket  - if I had a midriff like that I would never wear clothes again - and after treating a roar of "Chameleon!“ with the contempt it deserves, drives his motley crew into 'Live 'Til I Die‘. His guitar solo finishes with a pinched harmonic that other guitarists might wait their whole lives for. There’s no time to contemplate it though, the band go straight into 'Heart Explodes‘ with its "Oh, Ohs“ and Queen-style clap-along. It’s driven by the furious acoustic strum of Darkness secret weapon Ian 'Softlad' Norfolk, who does a lot of heavy lifting throughout. 'Deckchair‘ is still bogey but another Hawkins Strat solo has a precision that Mark Knopfler would admire, and my glamorous assistant and camera woman, Ms Herzberger, thinks it’s one of the strongest songs on the record, so there you go. Hawkins’ solitary sigh at the end is as camp as the store room behind O'Meara's, but we should expect nothing less from the Kenneth Williams of Rock.

Dan Hawkins pulls out some exceptional playing for the verses of the album’s title track, ably abbetted by the painfully handsome Rufus Tiger Taylor, who attacks his drums throughout like a grounded teenager slamming a bedroom door. The stop-start, slow-fast chug of 'Heavy Metal Lover' gives Lord Poncesonby ample opportunity to flounce about, joined on this occasion by Fabulous Frankie Poullain who uses the open string notes as a chance to wave his free hand about in the air like an old Queen while his band are coincidentally proving themselves yet again to be the new Queen. The song finishes with Justin and Ian playing the necks of each other’s guitars while Dan dons a baseball hat for the rap that dare not speak its name. That’s showmanship, sir!

Justin makes a heart symbol to show how much he loves us all during 'In Another Life', 'Choke On It' rages with a furious malevolence and then, to finish off part one, Hawkins plays 'We Are The Guitar Men‘ solo on an acoustic, his formiddable voice, sometimes only a rumour to even dog ears, jumping octaves, as he gently chastises those of us looking on for clapping out of time.

A very quick break, then Mr F. Poullain reappears, in some sort of kimono/dressing gown hybrid that only seals his "coolest bass player in rock“ status now that Paul Simonon has gone into semi-retirement. He taunts us with his cowbell (Oi, Oi!), teasing out his moment like an out of work actor delivering a definition on Call My Bluff, before the rest of the band crash back in for 'One Way Ticket‘. Justin Hawkins was lucky to make it back in time too, having obviously slipped out to break into Eartha Kitt’s house and steal her sedcution catsuit, which he has squeezed himself into. It allows him an enviable ease of movement as he finishes by caressing his Les Paul over his shoulder and around the back (Settle down!).

'Barbarian' utilises chords so heavy that any civilisation would quake to hear them coming over the hills. Smoke bombs go off and Dan and Justin, up on the drum raiser, touch each other’s guitar like they're in the kind of movie that those after a "specific kind of entertainment" once had to fly to Amsterdam to purchase. Some of these men are nearly thirty years old but that doesn’t prevent furious pogoing during a breakneck 'Japanese Prisoner Of Love‘ and 'Love Is Only A Feeling‘ after its clap-along kick-off finishes with a two guitars in the air rock salute that would have the staunchest of indie meat avoiders tying bandanas around their heads and rushing out to get some fresh tattoos.

Hawkins dedicates 'Solid Gold' to the "the world’s greatest living writer“. Modesty precludes me from naming him but he received a round of applause here in Germany that he didn’t get in Dublin after a similar introduction, so he is, I hear, grateful for that. "Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in his hometown" (Luke 4:24). The good times continue with 'Giving Up‘ and the ride cymbal and chord work before the solo sparks of genius. Radiohead’s 'Street Spirit‘ and The Beatles’ 'While My Guitar Gently Weeps‘ are mashed together at such a clip they almost take your head clean off, but they are as snails compared to 'Get Your Hands Off Of My Woman' which clocks in at about 4,000 mph, before it slows so Hawkins can lead the crowd in a sing along for the chorus, swooping through the outer reaches of his range. If you’ve ever seen old footage of Liberace and thought "I like that, but I long for it to be somehow camper…“ then fret no more, for the man behind the candelabra is reborn, in rock form. Our hero then does a handstand and claps with his feet, throws the mike over his shoulder, steps out on the speaker and decides to jump into the crowd, and do his best Mark Spitz as he swims across the outstretched hands of the faithful, who are blessed just to tough the hem. This ladies and gentlemen, is how you put on a show.

They come back for one more and it has to be 'I Believe In A Thing Called Love‘ - Hawkins once challenged me to name a better song - and the German crowd, who were freaking out like children at a particularly sugar-driven birthday party, go up another notch into full on, jackets-where-the-sleeves-tie-up-around-the-back crazy. Hawkins acts out the "steering wheel“ line, does a nifty two-step, the band stop to clap out the beat behind that enormous chorus, there’s a positively dynamite solo, offering a masterclass in the often-abused fret tapping technique, then it ends and the room explodes.

Can’t you see, Gerry? I adore The Darkness because they have it all. The greatest frontman as entertainer since Dave Lee Roth went to shit and Freddie Mercury went to his rest, the natural successor to Malcom Young on the more important second guitar, a bass player who’s as good as a show on his own, and a drummer who could power a small town. Added to that, they have proper hands-in-the-air, tie-around-the-head rock n’ roll songs that would put a smile on the face of a christian brother, humour where it’s needed and, and this is no small thing, they put on the best show going, a show so full of rockin' joy, it reminds anyone lucky enough to be present why music means so much to us in the first place.