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A particularly bawdy sense of reverence for their forefathers has always been part of Airbourne’s DNA. Clearly, from singer Joel O’Keeffe’s lusty rasp to their overheated blues-rock stomp, to the barrage of single entendres, cartoonish women and blokey swagger of their lyrics, they are and remain the bastard sons of AC/DC, pillaging the world one festival at a time.
Their sixth album has been long in the making, recorded at Music Farm Studio outside Byron Bay using an original console once used and abused by AC/DC, Rose Tattoo and The Angels. And while the vintage equipment and tracks recorded to tape have lent a timeless quality to the record, that theme of praising those who went before continues with the subject matter.
Closing song Send Me To Rock’n’Roll Heaven doffs a grubby cowboy hat to Lemmy, John Bonham, Bon Scott, and Little Richard, among others, making it an aural Ouija board that transports the listener straight to the ultimate party from beyond the grave. It’s a celebration of past legends, nostalgic without the mawkishness, and jammed with all the energy its roll call demands.
The big names just keep arriving. Stompers Who Put The Rhythm In You and Here She Comes are co-writes with Bryan Adams and producer Mutt Lange, who add a bit of arena-ready, singalong gloss, and could have been released any time in the past 45 years or so.
There’s plenty of horny silliness at play, too, not least in the pleasingly preposterous attempt at a Christmas No.1 built for festive celebrations on an antipodean beach. Yep, while Christmas Bonus might not reach the daft-as-a-brush heights of The Darkness’s Christmas Time (Don’t Let The Bells End) – the industry standard for innuendo-stuffed, tinsel-clad glee – its sleighbell-spattered tale of a woman so skilled when she’s stuffing her stockings she ‘makes Santa come twice’, alongside the most sexually charged “ho ho ho” you’ll hear this year, is a celebration of the glorious idiocy that so often makes rock’n’roll so much damn fun.
In the middle of all this is deft, speedy, relentless musicianship served with a big, affectionate dollop of heart that screams of love for the genre. Lemmy and co. must surely be looking down with a large glass of celestial Jack Daniel’s, smiling at the chaos they paved the way for.
